My mother holds my hand as we stare out over the Pattern. Its blue flickering light fills my eyes, and somewhere, I know I will forever remember this moment. I will return here, time and time and time again. My mother holds my hand as we stare out over the Pattern.
"One day, Etienne, you will walk the Pattern. Once you do, you must never stop. If you stop, it will destroy you. But do not be afraid... because you will master it, and make it your own. I know this, because it is true."
I do not know if it is her words or the Pattern's words or the Unicorn's words or my words. But the words echo through me. I hear them again as I set my foot upon the flaming path, and the world falls away around me, and I step forward. Forward, and forward, and forward. The First Veil tries to slow me. It fails. The Second Veil tries to stop me. It fails. The Third Veil tries to break me. It fails. I stand in the middle, triumphant, but I do not stop. I keep going, feeling my destiny ahead of my more clearly in that moment than I ever had before this moment. I am in this moment forever.
"One day, Etienne, you will walk the Pattern. Once you do, you must never stop. If you stop, it will destroy you. But do not be afraid... because you will master it, and make it your own. I know this, because it is true."
The central square of the city of Amber is filled with troops, and the air itself nearly crackles with the tension. Two armies have marched through the city, unprecedented in its long history, and I look upon my mother with the confusion that only a child can have. I throw the blade of her champion at her feet, broken by others but dispatched by me. She sent me to finish him, to end his pain. Nothing more. And I followed, because it was the course of my destiny. And now I am here, knowing my course will cost me thousands of lives of men and women whom I swore to protect. They die for me. Not for Amber. Not for Oberon. They die because I command them against my mother and her conspirators because I am loyal to the throne. I had hoped that she would have begun the fight before I arrived, but she waited for me. She knew I would be there. And I give the order that I must, and all around me is death.
"One day, Etienne, you will walk the Pattern. Once you do, you must never stop. If you stop, it will destroy you. But do not be afraid... because you will master it, and make it your own. I know this, because it is true."
I start from the center and walk outwards. It has never been done before. That idea had not actually truly occurred to me before I took that first step. I had assumed someone had. My mother, surely. Elmdor, possibly. But someone surely must have tried it, even if they tried it and failed. None had, though. They were all too frightened of the power of the Pattern to attempt it. I was frightened but it was the only path in front of me. The only other option was to accept the fate of Shadow to be consumed and destroyed by the Eagle. I had to fight, and this was the only course that made sense to me. And there she was, Grandmother and Mother and the Unicorn. She asked me to love them, to give up my revenge. I was not sure if I could love them, but it seems I did not have to. I only had to try to. And I tried. And by trying, I succeeded, not at loving, but at being who I was. I was greater than my need for revenge.
"One day, Etienne, you will walk the Pattern. Once you do, you must never stop. If you stop, it will destroy you. But do not be afraid... because you will master it, and make it your own. I know this, because it is true."
It was impossible, and we achieved it. I achieved it. I stared into the unblinking eye of the end of all things, into the very heart of something that could not exist. My will made it exist, and my desire made it manifest. We had to stop it, and so stopped it. The actual deed is not what mattered. The Moment in Virgil's hands, Winter's deadliness, and Jubei's perfection made short work of a thing that thought itself an unknowable god in our water. It cost me my ship and my crew, but I do not know if that was a cost paid or simply a part of me letting go of what they meant to me. It was what had to be done. It was the goal we set out to achieve, but no one knew how to see through, except me. I saw it, at the end. I saw what I was. Before that moment, I had thought it was destiny that had brought us there. It was never destiny. It was me.
"One day, Etienne, you will walk the Pattern. Once you do, you must never stop. If you stop, it will destroy you. But do not be afraid... because you will master it, and make it your own. I know this, because it is true."
I stand at the end of Shadow, and one by one, I kill every possible beginning. So alike in dignity, all possibilities, but in the moment, there is only one choice. There is only the course we take. We are together, here and now, as I was always meant to be. My grandmother always said I was a better Chaosite than an Amberite, and in this moment of deicidal apotheosis, I cannot help but think she would approve. I was good at loving. I was never good at knowing. My moment lies after the decision has already been made. There is infinite possibility, but there is only one course. Only one destination. Only one end. I have always known this. I will not hesitate for I cannot hesitate. The course I have taken is this moment, and there was never any turning back. Virgil set me on this course. My mother set me on this course. The Unicorn, the Eagle, the Serpent all set me on this course.
Shadow set me on this course.
Do not belittle my pain, my sacrifices by saying I chose it. There was never a choice. There was only the heading, and I have always been upon it. I cannot stop any more than I can want to stop. Stopping is to being destroyed, and you must destroy me to stop me. And I remain.
Words and words and words, and sound and fury, signifying everything.
Speaker, I. Weaver, I. Planner, she? But yes, but no, but maybe still and all things at once. What is a planner but a weaver without a loom? I am the weaver and the loom, and the threads of my web is called from stars. I chart my course now, free of the doldrums, and the wind fills my sails. Excitement grips me like a sword loosed from its sheath, and my heart leaps to be in motion again. Not still, I. To be still is to be dead. To be in motion, to live.
She was terrified of me when she learned who I was, but I was not surprised. I knew she would be scared, nor can I deny that she should have been. I am a dangerous and wicked man, and were I at another step in my journey, she would have died a hundred times over. But I am not at any other point in my journey. I am not where I am as I am writing this, even. Forward, I. Ever forward. To walk upon the Pattern is to know that you can never stop, for in stopping, you are destroyed.
I was not destroyed upon the Pattern, so I know I never stopped. I am not stopping. I will never stop.
I stare at our problem, and plan. Planner, I, now. The web is being eaten, strand by strand, and a new web is in its place. Easier was destruction without end, for our universe loves to live. The one who grows, it is a greater threat. Growth, our strength. Motion, I. Direction? Virgil. I know only the movement forward. Let others be damned or blessed by the course.
I was painting this morning down by the harbor with Lysette when I felt the stir in the wake of Shadow. My destiny is tied too closely to Virgil's for me not to know the Moment was now complete. It was a distracting moment, and led to me applying the red a little too strong. The painting was not ruined, but it turned the horizon of this city from a gentle sunset over an empty harbor to a ruddy sun making a sea of blood. Lysette was worried, but my smile and kind words turned her mind aside. The days flow together in this city, and it would be easy to lose an eternity here were I anyone else.
I worry for my family in Shadow, for I can feel the threads of destiny beginning to come short. It is a question of whether or not we will be able to act in time, but another question has occurred to me. What is my role in this has already ended? What if I have done all that I was meant to do, and now the blades and helm lie in the hands of those more powerful than me, more careless than me, more loving than me?
I have begun my work on a new shadow engine. Sorcery still functions in this city, and I know the heart of power here. The advantage to Trump is that, while it is a difficult power to master, its artifacts require no actual skill to utilize. Only power. This city is where Trump lives unchallenged, a shadow construction that bends to the works of Trump may provide me the means of egress. It is something to do, at very least.
You are my foe, and I will be your destruction. You have forged me, and I have forged a storm. Your bamboo shall break. Your roots shall rot. Your dreams shall wither. Your hopes shall die.
Creator and created, it is an amusing situation we have found ourselves in. You think that this all is falling within your plans, and perhaps it is. You are not nearly as vast as you would lead them to believe, but I can see where your arrogance leaves you blind. I am that blind spot, because I was made to be your blind spot. And that is why I can kill you. That is why I must kill you. From the first day to the end of days, we have been rolling towards this point of singularity to see what will come past it, and I wonder.
Did you make me to hate you as much as I do?
The answer is irrelevant. I am made to destroy you, and I will enjoy being as I was made to be. We all have our part to play, and this is mine. I would not trade it for another.
I can feel the echoes of Leonesse snuffing out like the embers of a quenched flame. These echoes are all that remain of my childhood before Amber, years that even I find challenging to remember. I paint the castle that was my home for those first few years, and can barely remember the color of the pennons that flapped in the summer wind. It was the home that my mother had built for me, and it had never occurred to me that it might not one day be there any more. Now, it is gone, and even my memories of it are fading.
My ship is gone, along with the crew who had served with me for centuries. Their faces are fading from my memory, along with their voices. All that is left are their names, names I never forget. Funny, after we are dead, the echoes of our voices in the minds of those we touched might be the only trace we ever were there. Should we fail in our task, then will the Unicorn remember us? Will the Eagle?
I occurs to me now how brilliant Dworkin truly was. You were the instrument of the Unicorn, leaving its champion to rule. What if it had been Jubei who found your body first? Would he stand now where I stand, trapped in the stronghold of our adversary? Only Virgil and Iain know where I am, but I suppose they are the only ones who care. I miss Alanna. I miss Alexander and Elizabeth. I miss my ship. I miss my home. I miss my anger, even.
I do not know who the man I am becoming is, but I pray to the Unicorn that whoever he is, whatever he does? He does it well, and when he comes to his end, he dies well.
The path that I should not walk stands before me, and I would consider it. To take any of the lives of our kind is to court death and doom. The price of our success is even higher than the price of our failure. But there is one of us for whom the risk is worth it.
One hundred, sixty eight thousand, three hundred and fifty four. That is a number, but it is also lives. Lives taken, some in brief moments of power, but others is slow agony as magically virulent cancer chewed them apart over months while their families wept. Every life is counted, but I do not know the full extent of her actions. There are likely many more dead at her hands than even I could ever count. She is a threat to our survival as a family, and a threat to Shadow in total.
This is why I pray to the Unicorn that I never be given the opportunity to kill Talwyn, because I know that I would take it, against the wishes of our forebearer. When I did so, however, it would not be for vengeance. I have given up my revenge.
Her name is Juno. Means to an end. Danger, now. Far from the beaten path. Once the way is open, can never be closed. So many lives, and now I am in unfamiliar waters. Sharks about, but they have not yet smelled the blood. No victim, I. Another shark, but even sharks are eaten with blood in the water.
My steps are complete, and there are no good answers. I stared into the expanse of Shadow, and felt the sands slipping away. Destiny is running out, and no one knows what will happen when it ends. The Adversary believes Shadow will end, that is its purpose. I do not. Purpose is nothing compared to desire. Life desires, Shadow desires, Shadow lives. We are perpetual motion. Amusing, that. I look upon their city of unblemished marble, and try to see it through their eyes. She is a builder. Grandfather is a ruler, but she is a builder, and whatever grew the Courts was simply a creator. All are different, but what kind of build builds only to watch their efforts torn down?
Madness, surely. All are mad, I alike. My madness forms in the motion of the waves, driving me forward. I can never stop, never pause. That is my madness, to forever be upon the Pattern, to always place my next foot in front of the last.
She will come, of that I am certain. She must know I am here. Grandfather would know, and she is as careful as he. Even now, she is likely reading this, likely reading me. She knows I am speaking with Virgil. She knows I am considering destroying this city brick by brick, life by life. Were I an age and a half younger, I might just. And it brings a terrible smile to my face knowing how much damage I could do before the end.
And, yet, my hand is still. I play the part, and wait my time. These people are not my enemy, they are simply civilians caught in a war on the side of my Adversary. They are a people, no more or less admirable than the ones I have buried. I gain nothing in hurting them. Instead, I learn and I wait.
Fool, I. My thoughts spin on the threads, and years slip by like drops of water in the storm. Time. Time enough. Time enough to live. To know. To love. To learn. To learn, I. I, forward. I, Stephen. Names, power. Words, spoken. So many cast into the the twilight and I stand now.
Was it like this for her? Was it like this for him? I have stood in the presence of things my kind could call gods, and not known fear. I stand in their presence, and I know only fear. It is to be without power, but all powerful. All the future, all for them.
I look through my meditations, and it is harder now to think like I once did. I have to slow my thoughts down, to weave them into patterns and forms that could be understandable. Virgil would understand, I think. My mother, most assuredly. They told me that this would happen, in their own ways. They warned me that the journey would change me, but I do not feel changed. I am who I must be. I am no one else.
There is one force, one movement. Conflict itself is shadow. Substance is without conflict. It is not the Foe who is correct, but it is not the others who can understand that.
There is one coin, but two faces. It does not matter the face shown for the value.
There is not conflict, only direction. Only desire.
Peter Connard, pilot. Melody Asiago, navigator. Yves de Yrold, bosun. Mikkel Elmsen, second mate. Piero Neville, quartermaster. Jan Bjornsdottir, master at arms. Killian McDermott, topsman. Paul Martenn, topsman. Erving Williamsten, topsmen. Quayle Tanner, marine. Ymile Blackborn, marine. Wesley Blackborn, marine. Sarah Oldsmeet, marine. William Turner, marine. Oleander Martell, marine. Sounder MacNell, marine. Ulysses Gemjaw, marine. Rinaldo Ember, marine. Ashley Waters, marine. Bandero, marine. Horace Andelsen, marine. Danners Georgio, marine. Corey Shanders, marine. Wonsel Reddinger, marine. Nero Caerus, ship's cook. Iola Messinger, crewman. Paris Priamsen, crewman. Alexander Chandler, crewman. Robert Cotter, crewman. Jean Baptiste d'Yves, crewman. Antony de Gevaudan, crewman. Robert Martense, crewman. Travis Martense, crewman. Oliver Martense, crewman. Jack Descartes, crewman. Mario Batali, crewman. Daniel Boulud, crewman. Thomas Zannan, crewman. Dorian Marsh, crewman. Walter Gilman, crewman. Petro Goldsmith, crewman. Maggers McMules, crewman. Darren Underhill, crewman. Oscar Reddawn, crewman. Eric Freeman, crewman. Charles Bebole, crewman. Vincent Danvers, crewman. Luke Umbridge, crewman. Jules Lumiere, crewman. Parten Macfyll, crewman. Quora, crewman. Dudemont Ishmail, crewman. Seorra Bandersmen, crewman. Austin Heers, crewman.
They left their homes and followed me. Some had families. Some had only the ship. They gave everything they had, and in the end, they were nothing more than sand in the storm. I wasted their lives. I lost my ship. We succeeded, but they will never know that now, because of me.
I am tired of my friends dying because of me. And this is only the beginning.
Ten thousand spiders weaving a tapestry of light. Threads twist and tangle. Wrapped in flame, a kingdom shatters. Shards hold parliament at tea. Three anchors stand above, the web between. One sways in wind. One stands firm. One rolls away to tear free. A fourth now lands, tearing the web in its wake. The spiders scramble, but one stands firm.
One weaver, I. First born. One weaver, him. First born of first born. I see his father in his eyes, and I see myself reflected in him. Too hard, but now strong. Thread of destiny, followed to this point. Ten thousand threads, trapping the spiders as much as the flies. Trapping me, weaver first born. Trapping him, my first born, against me. The web survives still, but now it is so close to tearing forever. And all the spiders fall into what lies below.
Shadow cannot exist without light. Destiny the thread, him the weaver now. Little spider, my little spider, weaving a trap to catch a bird. First born weaver, now queen, held by thread. I never wanted a crown, only to remove it from His head. The web traps the prey and the predator alike, bound together. All we are, weavers of light.
The web is torn. The branch is threatened. The trap is laid. My clever little spider, he is all that I dreamed of as his father held me close a lifetime ago. He brings the threads together, at the heart of the web, where he has always belonged. My web is complete.
For my mother, it was a matter of months. She would take care to visit me on the Rock often enough that it would be familiar, but not often enough to be smothering. Towards the end, before her rebellion, it was slightly more frequent, but not more than had been at previous periods. She would show interest, and try to push me towards greater understanding, and I would eventually grow sullen and silent. I was always more disappointed in myself than she was in me. I can see that now.
For me, it has been nearly four hundred years, many of which my mother was present for physically, but not mentally. I have aided in another rebellion, stood at the edge of Shadow itself, rebuilt the House my grandmother led to ruin, mastered the Pattern, and come face to face with Nothing itself. In all this time, I had dreamed of simply my mother smiling again, of her being happy, angry, sad, proud, disappointed, anything at all. And now, she is returned to me, and Terridus has kept his word. Perhaps I should have trusted him earlier, but that lies in waters behind me. I cannot dwell on my past. I must sail towards the future, always.
Four hundred years, and when I finally sat down to simply have dinner with my mother as a family, I was at a loss for words. It took a bit, but we were able to talk, to laugh, and to simply be again. There was no wound between us, despite her rebellion and my opposition. She knew I would stand against her, and though it slew a hundred thousand men whose names I will never forget, I forgave her the moment she spoke. I wonder if I could have done so anywhere else in my journey, but it is a moot query. I am here, now.
The next few days will be critical, and this is only a calm before the storm. Sail the sea long enough, and you can feel the red sky in the morning hours before the sun rises. That is what I feel right now, with my hair on end, and the tickle of ice in my spine. There are no quarters for me in this new castle, and it does not feel like the home I once had here. My quarters on the Kestrel provide me the comfort of a familiar surroundings. I would return to my home on the Rock, but my family may need me soon. I cannot afford even the hours it would take to travel, and I must conserve my resources. The fight comes to us soon.
His name was Henri du Rien, and I have killed him.
I do not know why I have come here, of all places. I was a child when I walked the Pattern, daring to challenge it just to be better than them, to be better than Virgil and Gaius. Brilliant, terrifying Virgil. Cunning, talented Gaius. Ambitious, eager Stephen. And I beat it. By the Unicorn, I beat it, as young as any of my mother's generation. Was it as hard for them as it was for me? I cannot know. But from the center of the Pattern, I opened my mind to my destiny, and went there.
After so many years of practiced, I never imagined war would be... this. Dirty. Filthy. Muddy and cold. I have fired my rifle, surely killing others, but none of it felt real until tonight.We were advancing to the next trench, when the gas came on and the mortars started dropping. I was hiding in a foxhole, when another man dropped in. Through the haze and the masks, it took us a moment to realize they were someone else's comrade. He pulled off my mask, but I am Amber-born, and my knife proved deadlier than the stinging gas that burned in my nose and eyes.
I watched the life gutter and fade out in him like a candle at the end of its wick, until with one red gasp, it slipped away. I do not know how long I have sat here, staring at what is left of him and tried to understand why. In my mind, I remember the words of Dworkin, that if I so desired it, I could ensorcell his body to rise again, or I could simply walk until I found a world where he lived still. By his papers in his pockets, he was a father and a baker. He had a photo of his son, and his wife. There was a letter but I cannot read it. The blood has soaked it through. And I could find a world where he lived still, and I could bring him to this one. But it would not be the man I killed. He might be identical in all ways, but he would not be. And I cannot express why, or even how I would know it.
I am a killer, and I do not know how that makes me feel. This is not guilt. This is not pleasure. I do not know what this feeling is, but I came here. Henri du Rien was real, and now he is dead, and if I never was here, he would be forgotten, nameless and dead. But I know his name. I will always know his name.
I do not understand the path in front of me, but I know that I must walk it with all my heart and will. If I doubt, I will be destroyed. If I hesitate, I will be destroyed. If I stray, I will be destroyed. I do not know if Annalee is a trustworthy ally, but I cannot afford to distrust her. Virgil is back to his old self, and on some very deep level, he still frightens me. Even sane, even whole, he is a man who is dangerous in ways that most of us do not have the stomach to be. I may have tried to kill James, I may have done the same to Terridus or Garrick at some point, but I am not Virgil. My reasons and methods were straightforward and simple in comparison, and my ambition nearly lowly. His plan is madness, but sanity says there can be no victory. And such, I commit as much as I can to madness.
I feel the call of my course in front of me still, and must focus upon it. I do not know if I will ask Virgil to take Caine's daughter, but I believe she will be safer with him than she will with me. My last time in Amber nearly destroyed me. This time likely promises to be no different. I can only hope that I will be able to do some good.
I cannot know if I was wrong to trust Terridus with my mother. Please, Unicorn, do not let me be wrong about this.
My course is forward. I will succeed. There is no other option.
In truth, I do not know if I am strong enough to love them. Hating them was so much easier. Such is the way of our kind, that our flaws are so great and our virtues are so terribly few. And yet, to live, I must. To stop my enemy, I must. For Shadow, for my mother, for all of this, I must. My mind drifts back to them as children, and I wonder how we ever got to be here.
I was barely a youth when I first met Virgil. Even then, he was frighteningly intelligent. Stephen, and Virgil, and Gaius. The others would come later, of course, but in the beginning, there was only the three of us. Perhaps that is why Gaius hesitated. Maybe he knew what I intended, knew that I would not fight him. Terridus I would have fought. I shouldn't have, and it's a strange sort of mercy he paid me to send Gaius after me. I wonder if Terridus knew of the summer days Gaius and I spent, riding through Arden, fishing down at the docks, sparring under Dagonet's watchful eye. I wonder if his right eye still twitches before his leading feint, and if he still remembers the night we stole one of Gerard's flasks, got drunk, and got in a fight over who Ylsidora the serving girl liked better. By the Unicorn, we were children once.
We were all children once.
Even Terridus. Even Winter. Even Garrick. I was there when they were each introduced in court, always ready with a verbal jab and a cunning test. Hello, I'm your cousin Stephen. Welcome to the family. Hope you like being tricked. Gaius? Oh, he's just better than you. Virgil? He's just insane. And me? I'm just angry. I look forward to watching you fail.
Perhaps Lises truly is the best of us. Funny, the first to find enough joy in his heart to foster the next generation, and it was Elmdor's other son. Then Viola, clever, pretty Viola.
Why was I the first to find it of our generation? Why did it choose to save me? And even as I ask that, I know the answer. Because it could. Because it had the faith that I would be able to overcome my own worst nature, and rise to become... whatever it is I am becoming. I would like to think that it is a better man, but that is simply vanity. I am an Amberite. I cannot become better than what I am. Redemption is merely a pleasant story people tell to convince themselves it's okay to be forgiven. Amberites, when we choose to be honest, know better than that.
I miss my home. I miss my Navy. I miss my mother. I miss the seas of Amber, and the smell of a summer storm as it breaks upon the Rock. Only now, only here can I say these things.
The way forward is dark and uncertain, but when I was a child, it was easy to love. I have been commanded to love them, and as a child, I think I could have done it. I do not have to like them, after all. Just love them. I just have to remember what it was like to be a child.
My steps lead forever forward, and I do not think I will ever step free of the Pattern. My whole life, I am walking the Pattern. There are infinite veils, and I will only reach the center upon my death. May that I do some good here, before then.
I wonder as I sit in this cell whether or not I truly ever understood how much they hate me before today. Did I hate them just as much? What sort of twisted progeny are we that this is all that we are? I knew my reasons for hating, I nursed them to my breast and held them close for so very long. I did not see far enough pass my own hatred to see theirs. What a desolate lot we are. I do not think, however, that Oberon is to blame, nor our parents. We are all to blame. It is a sin we all share in equally.
They each come and speak their peace, whether it is curiosity like Graham's, or anger like Terridus and Winter. Winter, a man who killed my soldiers, who I must forgive. Terridus, a man whose pain mirrors my own in so many ways, who holds me responsible for denying him his redemption. His redemption. The arrogance of it struck me off guard, and I wondered whether I was that arrogant. I know now that I was. Could he have saved my mother? Perhaps. But that ship has sailed. He is broken, and I do not think any of us will live long enough to see him repaired.
My thoughts go to Alanna, and the Kestrel, to Sir Dan'Vir and Jubei. My allies who are far from these shores, and I pray to the Unicorn that I have not abandoned them to their fates through my own arrogance. I dared the impossible. On some level, I think I almost hoped it would kill me. Then, my tasks would be over. Instead, they have grown even greater. To the Unicorn, I pray, protect them. Give them your grace.
But that is as far as I will allow myself to dwell on my circumstances. I must bring my mind to finish what I have begun, and I finds myself with an overabundance of time to do it.
After you pass the Second Veil, you enter the Grand Curve. Dimly above the very roaring of the fires of the Pattern, you are aware that you are nearing the end, but you cannot bring yourself to hope to reach it. Everything that you are, everything that you must be is poured into each and every step. It is like the First Veil in difficulty, but you hardly have the time to try to figure it out. Instead, you must continue as the Pattern itself fights you. And just when you think that it could not get any harder, you reach the Third Veil.
It is the Third Veil which is your final test upon the Pattern. It is as you pass through the Third Veil that you feel the force of all of the Pattern bearing down upon you. Like metal in a crucible, you are heated clean of any impurities, poured into the molds of your desires, and hammered upon by the very force of Destiny itself. The trick is to not submit, to not simply be reforged. If you let the Pattern have its way with you, you will be broken and you will die. Instead, you must grow stronger than Destiny, and break the hammer as it rings upon the steel of your soul. Only then, only when the hammer breaks, can you find yourself on the far side of the Third Veil. Three steps, a turn, and two more, and you are finished.
I have passed my Third Veil. My trials of rebuilding my grandmother's house, of the challenges I have sought after Dworkin's murder, those were my Grand Curve. I am through my Third Veil, and I felt the hammer of Destiny strike me. Vengeance, I had called it. Hate. Pain. All of it had been mine. I lived a life defined by the most petty of emotions, one so filled with pain that I had to see this pain visited on others. I was once a fool. No more. I choose this path of my own accord, knowing not where it will lead me, but accepting it because it is my path. There are no others quite like it.
I do not know if I will survive this next step. I do not know if it is necessary, or if it will give me what I require. I know so very little, and only now can I truly comprehend the lack of my knowledge. Luckily, what I do not lack is purpose. I know my actions, and I know the risks I am taking. If I fail, then I will be destroyed. I do not ask for the Unicorn to have mercy on my soul. I would not, in its position. And so, I leave this in my ship, to be read if I do not return.
Whatever personal effects remain to me on the Island of the Tempest, save for those named below, are to be gathered by the remnants of Amber's Navy, and sold at auction in the Golden Circle on the condition of the profits of my estate go to the widows and orphans of my soldiers. All gave some, and some gave all, for Amber. I will have them remembered.
The contents and notes of my alchemy labs are to be gathered and made available to any of my family members upon their oath to see the liberation of the people of Tenebrae, Avalon, and Holmgard from the tyrants who have claimed their thrones. If no members of my family present themselves to claim this in one year and a day from this Feast of the Unicorn, my notes and supplies are to be destroyed utterly.
To Alanna, I leave the Kestrel, its crew, and its destiny. She is a good ship, and the finest I have ever stood upon. Her crew are the finest I have ever served with. Your company has made my tasks easier, and I do not envy your days ahead. Know that I treasure nothing in Shadow more than my ship, and that is why I am giving her to you.
To Dan'Vir, I leave you the book that this letter has been left in, along with the cipher I have attached to it. It is a challenging read, but it contains most of the information I have gathered on the nature of our foe. Your talents may better protect you from its knowledge than many others. My apologies that it is not a gift I am giving you, but a burden. Knowledge is a terrible, terrible thing. Do what you can with it.
To Jubei, I leave the army I have gathered in the Rajaways. You know the task that I have trained them for. They will give you everything they have. Do not waste it.
To my aunt Kestrel, I leave a map that can be found in the third blue book on the right in my personal study in the Rajaways. You will know what it leads to. Help her, now that I cannot.
To Lises, I leave my collection of art from Shadow. You may find it in my personal estate on the Island of Storms. I have not had the opportunity to enjoy them as I once did. Now, I never will. I also leave you the piece on the third floor, eastern side of my manor, on the condition that it is left unfinished. Perhaps, one day, I may yet return to complete it. There are stranger things in Shadow than that.
There are things I know I am forgetting, but I have little left to give. So much of what I have, I am. My path is set. I will succeed, or I will be destroyed trying. And for the first time, in a very long time, I know for certain what the better outcome is.
Grandfather and Grandmother are likely removed for the time being, as close to dead as any two creatures such as themselves likely can be. Mother is lost. And I inherit House Raja and the title of a Lord of Chaos, by happenstance.
Did you plan this too, Virgil? Did you know what I would find at the end of Shadow, and the knowledge I would bring back? I only hope Serpentis proves himself at least capable of understanding the mysteries there. What happened to you, Virgil? Where did the plan go?
But I clear these thoughts from my mind, and focus on the Pattern. It is my strength, my only strength now. Even here, so far from Amber, it gives me what I need to continue. I remember my footsteps and retrace my steps. The turns before the Second Veil are treacherous, and they lead you from the inside of the shape once more towards the edge. To reach the Second Veil, you will only be able to see the glowing blue fire of the Pattern around you, every step harder than the last and every insight more powerful than before.
The Second Veil is a greater challenge than the first, but it is far more direct in its methods. It does not sneak up on you. It does not hide from you. It is a wall suddenly in your path, and beyond it you cannot reach. As you reach the Second Veil, the very forces of Shadow itself beat upon you, seeking to break you. There is a hate in the heart of the Second Veil, a hate that burns as bring as the sparks of the blue electric flame searing about you. It is not a cold hate, that waits for its chance to strike. It is a terrible, unending hate that does its mightiest to scourge you from your task.
To pass the Second Veil, you must not let it break you. As the hammer falls upon the heated steel, it is not seeking to break the steel. The harder the strike, the greater the metal becomes. The force of the Second Veil is to purge the remaining weakness from you and to harden your resolve into pressing forward against the most impossible of odds. As you gave up your fear of failure at the First Veil, you must give up on your weakness at the Second Veil. It will not allow any through. The creature who reaches the far side of that Veil is not the whole creature who began it.
If my mother's defeat was my First Veil, I have passed now my Second Veil. There is naught but death in Amber, and Virgil is the agent of my enemy. My weakness has always been that I care too much. I care too much for my troops. I care too much about my cousins, though not in a way that would make me hesitate to bring them harm. Quite the opposite. But I still care.
Virgil is beyond caring. If I allow myself to care here, he will defeat me. It will defeat me. Perhaps I will be able to save my friend from it. Perhaps not. I know my task, however, and I have very little time to do it. I can no longer afford to care. Risks must be taken. I must succeed.
The First Veil is the first true challenge upon the path of the Pattern. Up to this point, you feel cocky and confident. It was not as difficult as you had been lead to believe, and you would reach the ending in only a matter of time. And then, you encounter the First Veil.
It starts like electric quicksand, slipping in about your feet and pulling them to the line of the Pattern like the gravity of a star. Suddenly, your movements become sluggish and difficult. Lifting your foot to take your next step becomes ever harder with every twitch of the muscles, and it takes the entirety of your attention just to keep your balance. In a part of you that does not matter anymore, you lose track of your surroundings beyond the Pattern ahead of you. Perhaps you are being observed. Perhaps you are not. This is the last time that you will notice them. While you must commit yourself to the Pattern with the first step, it is only at the First Veil that you begin to doubt if that was the right choice.
It grows worse as you move to lower your foot. The line itself seems to try to evade you, even as you know beyond certainty that it is not moving. Rather, it is with every piece of distance between your foot and the Pattern that the uncertainty that your foot is moving at all grows. How dare you think that you are worthy to walk the Pattern? It is greater than you could ever possibly imagine, and you think that you can simply triumph over it by taking a step.
It is with the First Veil that the Pattern teaches you its second lesson. With the greatness of our power, there is always something greater. We are mighty, but we are not all-mighty. It is possible for us to fail. The Pattern takes our fear of that failure, and forces us to move through it. As you pass through the First Veil, you must give up on the fear of failure. If you fail, you will be destroyed. Do not fear the destruction, and it will no longer be able to stop you.
I call upon the Sign of the Pattern, and meditate upon its shape. I have known it for my entire life, my earliest memory being standing in the Pattern Room of the Castle, my mother holding my hand. This will one day be yours, she said to me then, or so my memory tells me. One day, you will walk upon this shape, and with it, you shall inherit your birthright. You will master the Pattern, and with it, you shall know the truth of the world.
I took my first steps upon the Pattern when I was barely more than twenty years old. The first three steps are the most terrifying, and yet the easiest. The challenge of the first three steps is before even the first. It is the conviction to accept the very challenge the Pattern places before you. Three simple steps, and a turn. The first symbol of the Sign that I will meditate upon is the first three steps.
On the first step, you begin to feel the fire of the Pattern seep in through the toe of your boot. Why is it that we must walk the Pattern? Why is a metaphysical crucible made manifest by something as simple as walking? It is funny how this idea doesn't really occur to you before you actually assay the Pattern for the first time, and your realize that you are in danger in a way you have never truly been before. You feel fear beating in your breast, and then you take your next step.
It is then that you feel the first wave of power, as your feet have left the firmament of Shadow, and stepped fully into the real. With the second step, you realize there is no turning back, there is only moving forward. To hesitate is to fail. To fail is to die. You lift your foot from the first step, and take your third, careful not to step too far, lest you miss where the Pattern turns.
It is then that you realize it will try to trick you, if you let it. Such is the nature of power. You must know your own desire before you can make it manifest. You must know yourself before you can know your own desire. This is the first three steps of the Pattern, overcoming fear and knowing the danger of being what you are.
Mon Apr 22, 2013 2:29 pm
