“Sliced to bits.” He chuckled grimly. “Me too, for that matter. I can never keep my fandon up properly. The way the stones move—”
“Wait!” I said. “Stones? That move?”
“Right. You stand on them. They float, but they respond to subtle movements of your feet. Up, down, left, right—you keep your stone moving and keep your opponent off balance.”
“You're making all this up,” I said accusingly. Weapons I'd never heard of—and now we had to fight on floating stones?
He shrugged. “It's true. There are traditional ways of doing everything here. Dueling with trisp and fandon is the recognized way to settle disputes.”
Despite my skepticism, he did not seem to be joking with me. Maybe these weapons were real after all. I mulled over the possibilities. Fighting in mid-air with weapons I'd never used before… I wouldn't stand a chance. Maybe a visit to King Uthor's court should be held back as a last resort.
I remembered our father's phenomenal skills with a blade, then Locke's offhand comment that Dad wasn't terribly good by Chaos standards. What tremendous fighters must these Lords of Chaos be!
“Come on,” Aber said, rising. “First let's see what happens when you go outside. I'm tired of being locked indoors. Fresh air will do us both some good. And maybe Dad will show up in the meantime.”
I had no choice but to agree, so I rose and followed him. With an unerring sense of direction, he passed through a maze of hallways that seemed to twist in upon themselves. Finally our passage dead-ended at a heavy wooden door, which he pushed open.
I stared through the doorway at a broad, sand-covered courtyard. On the other side, a hundred yards away, rose a stone wall perhaps thirty feet high. The wall extended to either side as far as I could see, apparently circling the house. Guards in uniform patrolled the top of the wall, and more guards drilled with swords and shields fifty yards to the right, at the far edge of the courtyard. The steady tramp of boots and the ring of steel on steel, of sword on sword, made it a familiar, welcome sound.
Then I made the mistake of looking up. Ye gods! The sky unnerved me—if sky you could call something that churned like a storm-tossed sea. Twisting colors, a splash of drifting stars, sudden spikes of blue lightning, and half a dozen moons all moving in different directions made my head swim. Gazing upon it sent waves of nausea and dizziness through me, and against my will I felt my body start to drift. The roar of phantom winds rose to fill my ears.
“Hey!” I heard a distant voice shouting. “Oberon! Look at me! Oberon!”
It was Aber. I forced my attention to him and focused on his concerned face. Grabbing his arm, I steadied myself. I felt sick, off balance, disoriented.
“I hear you,” I said. “The sky…”
“If it's too much for you, say so!” he said. “We don't have to stay outside long. But I think it's important for you to get used to it.”
“Yes.” I nodded; that made a lot of sense.
Pointedly, I did not look up. The universe grew steady once more and the roar of wind in my ears lessened.
Aber started forward briskly, out of the house, into the courtyard. I followed. Sand crunched under my boots, and the air carried strange spicy scents like nothing I could identify.
“What do you think?” he asked, indicating the whole of the house and sky with a sweep of his arm.
Gulping, I lowered my eyes and concentrated on the ground at my feet. Out here, what had looked like sand turned out to be something else. The whole courtyard seethed with movement underfoot, as sand and stone shifted constantly, like a mass of crawling insects. And yet neither Aber nor I sank into the ground. We walked normally, as though we stood on solid land.
Aber, grinning like a madman, threw wide his arms.
“What do you think?” he cried again, gazing up at the sky. “Isn't it splendid? Doesn't it make your heart race and your senses quicken? Can you feel it around us?”
“You're insane!” I gasped out. “It's a nightmare!”
Chapter 13
Aber laughed at me.
“So—this is—what the Courts of Chaos—are like?”
“Just about,” he said. “In the Beyond, we're quite close… I can feel the pull of Chaos, like a current moving through the air. You should be able to sense it, too.”
I just stared at him, bewildered. “What do you mean, sense it? I don't quite understand.”
“Close your eyes.”
I did so. I felt myself swaying, and the ground seemed to slide down and away from me.
“Ignore your senses,” he said. “No sight, no sound, no smell nor touch nor taste. You should feel a slight tugging inside… as though you're standing in a river while the waters push through your body.”
I remained still, scarcely breathing. My heart beat in my chest. Air whispered through my nose and throat. That low, throaty roar of phantom winds sounded distantly in my ears.
Then, gradually, I became aware of a curious sensation… a gentle pull not so much on my body as on my spirit, as though some unknown force tried to draw me closer.
I turned with it, trying to find the direction it wanted me to go. Yes—I had it now. It was unmistakable.
I opened my eyes and pointed toward the gate.
“That way.”
Aber looked startled.
“No,” he said. “That's not right.”
“What do you mean?” I demanded. “I can feel it! It's pulling me.”
“You have it backwards.” He pointed in the opposite direction. “The pull toward the Courts of Chaos goes that way.”
I turned and stared in the direction he indicated, back toward our family's towering house. No, I was certain I didn't want to go back there. Turning, trying to find where the pull was strongest, I found myself facing the gate again. The Courts of Chaos definitely held no pull for me. Clearly this psychic tug came from something else… something in the other direction.
I told him as much.
“I don't understand,” he said, frowning. “But then, there's a lot I don't understand about you, Brother.”
Shrugging, I said, “Sorry. What you see is all there is.”
“I think not.” His eyes narrowed, studying me. “There is more to you, I think, than you even know yourself. But let's talk of other things now. Come on, I'll show you around the grounds. The gardens are nice.”
“Nice?”
“If you like rocks.”
Chuckling, he led the way, and I had a feeling he was about to play another of his famous practical jokes on me. We followed the wall to the right, away from the drilling men-at-arms. The house loomed over us, huge and windowless, oozing bright colors from every seam and joint.
A few blackened, twisted treelike plants grew from the soil, and their branches moved even though no wind blew. They seemed to sense our passage, and several times I jumped when branches whipped close to my face. Aber just ignored them and kept walking.
Rounding a corner of the house, we came into sight of the “garden”—a penned area where rocks roamed through knee-high grass at will, looking like petrified sheep. The rocks ranged from head-sized to bigger than a man, and now and again they banged into one another with loud crashing sounds. Benches set around the pen made it seem like rock-watching might be considered pleasurable here.
Aber went right up to the fence and leaned on it, staring out across the field. He seemed to recognize some of the rocks and actually began pointing out his favorites:
“That's Jasmine. And that one's Teal.”
“You've named them?” I stared at him like he'd lost his mind. He had to be playing a joke on me. Who had time for such nonsense with our family being murdered and our father gone missing?
He seemed to realize how I felt, since he sighed and shrugged and wouldn't look me in the eye.
“It's not for everyone,” he said. “You have to be sensitive to their presence to appreciate the beauty. It's like… it's like poetry!”