Brand

The aftermath of the fight was fairly uneventful. Emily returned Werewindle to me, thankfully none the worse for wear. I must admit, I felt relieved to feel its solid weight resting against my back again. I had been somewhat concerned that Gawain might attempt to add it to his collection before he left. If he ever did leave. I brought the Tir back to Amber long enough to drop Shaenan off, then began the journey back to Chaos. Gawain's Shadows drifted away as mysteriously as they had appeared while we were en route. Someday, I would figure out how he had done that. Assuming it was him, and not Emma with the Jewel.

Cerridwen finally woke up that evening, and looked as horrified as I had expected. Emma and Emily were there, but Gawain was noticeably absent. Emily took the unenviable task of filling Cerridwen in on what had happened to her. Naturally, Cerridwen wanted to know of Katrina's fate. I was rather disappointed to learn that she had been fed to the Spider. Rather unsatisfying, that. Cerridwen appeared to agree, as she was quite upset by the news. Some mention was made of finding a Shadow of Katrina to take her anger out on, an idea that Emma claimed to be therapeutic, having used a Shadow of Brand in that manner at one time. I must admit, that caught my attention. I had forgotten that Father had been involved with this woman for a time. What had drawn him to her? She did not seem to have much in common with my mother, but then again, neither had Jasra. Perhaps it was her facility with the Jewel. Father had always been attracted to power.

Cerridwen remained withdrawn for the rest of our journey to Chaos, and would see no one but Emily and myself. Even while with us, she remained silent for the most part, although I could tell she was seething inside. Horribly maimed, robbed of her vengeance, I could not really blame her. She remained on board the Tir even after we arrived in Chaos, as did Emma, much to my disappointment. Apparently Emma was not stupid enough to go abroad in Chaos with the Jewel after all. Despite this setback, I decided not to alter my plans, as there was always the chance Emma would change her mind. Unlike his wife, Gawain did disembark, supposedly to spend time with the Emperor. Cerridwen certainly had well-placed parents, one a former Queen of Amber, the other a friend of the Emperor of Chaos. Still, I did not envy her. There was that about Gawain that reminded me of my father in his less sane periods, that sense of violence barely restrained. I decided he would be a dangerous one to cross and let live.

I departed the Tir without being detected, and my plan regarding the Jewel was executed smoothly. A simple illusion spell, a trip to a couple of less reputable establishments, a few words dropped here and there... The rumors of the Jewel's presence spread like wildfire, with no one the wiser as to who had started them. If Emma did choose to leave the Tir now, hopefully she would find any number of factions trying to remove the Jewel from around her neck. Not the most elegant of plans, to be sure, but the best I could come up with on short notice, without risking myself unduly.

Shortly after I returned, Emily departed on a secret mission of her own, returning with a large package and a shapeshifter to take a look at Cerridwen. Unfortunately, he could do no more for Cerridwen than Shaenan had. The wounds simply would not heal at any kind of accelerated rate, and he said it would likely be many years before Cerridwen regained her missing limbs. Father had told me of the destructive properties of a Pattern weapon, but I had never witnessed just how devastating one could be until now. I resolved to be extremely wary should I ever encounter one in the hands of an opponent. Werewindle might protect me from most physical harm, but I doubted its innate defensive abilities would be able to stop another blade like itself.

Soon after Emily's shapeshifter departed, Emma abruptly announced that she wished to return home. Had she heard the rumors that were now spreading throughout the Courts? It was hard to say. Whatever her reasons, I was not unhappy to see her go. Her presence in the Tir with the Jewel made me distinctly nervous, as I doubted I would be able to hide my presence from her if she ever cared to look.

And so we made the trip to Amber once again, with Emily arranging for cybernetic prosthetics for Cerridwen along the way. Cerridwen accepted them, cloaked them in illusion, and no reference to her missing limbs was ever made again. But the rage remained within her, diminished somewhat, but never fading entirely. She almost reminded me of my father a bit, although I suppose she could simply have been taking after Gawain. Either way, it was a resemblance that made me somewhat uneasy.

I passed the time in transit working on Werewindle, making a few modifications that circumstances had suggested to me. The first was a stronger dampening of its signature. If I was going to keep it, it would not do to be walking around Chaos with an artifact that shone out as a beacon of Pattern to any who cared to look for it. The second was a defense for the spell I had seen Gawain use on Auriclave. Much to my frustration, I could understand it, but I could not duplicate it. I lacked some extra power that Gawain possessed. But even if I could not cast the spell, I could devise a defense against it. It was not a perfect solution, but it would do in an emergency.

Much to my surprise, Emily chose to disembark in Amber, along with Emma and Gawain. I had expected her to remain with Cerridwen, but perhaps she decided that Cerridwen no longer needed her care. Or maybe she found the change in Cerridwen too distressing to deal with. I did not ask, for in truth I did not really care. Whether she stayed or left did not matter to me at all.

It was during the return trip to Chaos that I received the Trump call I had been both expecting and somewhat dreading almost from the moment I was released from my imprisonment. It came in the morning, after Cerridwen and I had breakfasted together. She had retreated to her quarters afterwards, and I had chosen to do the same, using the opportunity to work on the Trump of Emma that I had been vexing me. I could not get it to work, you see, and I was quite at a loss as to why. I was speculating on whether it could be a side effect of the Jewel when I felt the beginnings of a Trump contact, and a strong one at that. I quickly attempted to identify the caller, and lost no time in answering it once I did so. Father had never liked to be kept waiting, after all.

He looked remarkably unchanged for a man who had died at least twice since I had last seen him, and his initial words indicated that little else had changed with him during that time. He had not contacted me out of concern for my health, or to express his relief that I was free, but rather because he wanted something from me. I had expected as much, really, but I was rather surprised by what he requested. He wished me to imprison Cerridwen by placing her in the Abyss. I could not hide the shock on my face upon hearing that. We had, after all, just finished dropping Bleys in the Abyss, with the intent of killing him, not imprisoning him. Father must have sensed my shock, for he hastened to assure me that he had no wish to see Cerridwen dead, just out of the way for the moment. He had plans that he did not wish to risk her interference in. Of course. Father always had plans. I did not even bother to ask what they were, this time. After my experience the last time I had been involved in one of his grand schemes, I did not want to know. But still, how could Father say he did not wish to kill Cerridwen, then insist she be thrown into the Abyss? It was not simply a storage area in which people could be placed and then later retrieved at leisure. I put this question to Father, but he brushed it aside, claiming that he could find her when this was all over, and that the experience would not do her any harm. I nodded as if I believed him, and thankfully he chose not to probe beneath my facade. He was capable of it, of course, and had done so frequently when I was growing up. Perhaps he was lulled by the fact that I had never disobeyed any of his commands. Of course, he had never failed before. Not until Patternfall. But he had failed there, and badly, and I had suffered the consequences. I had to know more before I could risk aiding him again. He already possessed a position of power in Amber. What did he stand to gain, this time? Was this another attempt to take the throne of Amber for himself?

I decided to ask Father that directly, not actually expecting him to answer me truthfully, of course, but hoping that I might find some clue in what he did say as to what he was doing. And if it was worth the risk to me. Or more accurately, if the risk was greater than the one I would take in not being his dutiful daughter. You can imagine my surprise when he informed me that he was jeopardizing all that he had attained merely for the sake of being evil. At first, I was certain that he was joking. Evil? What kind of motivation was that? Power, position, knowledge, even revenge, those were the motivations I understood, motivations he, himself, had taught me. But evil? Evil was not a motivation. Evil was a concept, and a simplified one at that. Surely, he could not be serious. But there was something in his face, his expression, that made me believe he meant it. What had happened to the man I had known? Perhaps it was the stress of dying so many times. I did not know what means had been used to bring him back each time, but it was not hard to imagine that they might have caused some permanent damage to his mind. In the end, the cause was academic. Regardless of how it had happened, I had to decide how to deal with it.

The first step was to end my conversation with Father, before he realized the doubts he had instilled in my mind. Fortunately, his overconfidence worked to my advantage in this instance. I told him I would work on the Cerridwen problem, and said I would be in touch. And with that, he let me go. It never occurred to him that I might not do exactly as he had asked. I could not count on that fooling him forever, though.

The contact broken, I finally allowed myself to shake a bit. Part of me still could not believe what I had heard. And what I was contemplating doing. Could I disobey him? The consequences if he should find out would be terrible. Regardless of the fact that I had never actually agreed to eliminate Cerridwen for him, given his current state of mind, it was impossible to predict how he might react if I failed to do so. And yet...Cerridwen had proved to be a useful ally, in the short time I had known her. She had freed me from my imprisonment, shown me how to move the Tir, brought me to the Magic Circle and kept the secret of my parentage. Who knew how useful she might be in the future? Could I sacrifice that valuable an alliance simply on Father's say-so? When I stood to gain nothing? Well, not quite nothing. If Father was to believed, I would learn how to become a living Trump. If he was to be believed. If he lived long enough to teach me. If his plan, if he even had a plan, did not fail. If his madness did not destroy him. Too many ifs. Never exchange power you already possess for power you must rely on another to gain. He taught me that lesson long ago. With Cerridwen as an ally, I had power. I could not give that up merely for the promise of power and the assurance that it was evil. Not even for Father. Not again. I had sacrificed too much during Patternfall in his name, and for what? As far as I had been able to determine, he had never made any effort to find or free me. Cerridwen had done that. Father simply left me left to my fate, a tool that was no longer useful, and therefore could be discarded. No, I could not risk that fate again. I had my own plans now, and I was not willing to sacrifice them to his madness.

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Last modified on April 8, 1999 by Kris Fazzari.