She moved the knife back and forth as if honing it now, smoothing the soil and packing it flat. Then she began to trace designs.
“For the next several days, I tried to find my way back,” she continued. “I thought I could locate our trail and backtrack along it, but it just sort of vanished. Then I did the only other thing I could think of. Each morning I struck out in a different direction, rode until noon, then headed back. I came across nothing that was familiar. It was totally bewildering. Each night I went to sleep more angry and upset over the way things were turning out-and more determined to find my own way back to Avalon. I had to show Grandpa that he could no longer dump me like a child and expect me to stay put.
“Then, after about a week, I began having dreams. Nightmares, sort of. Did you ever dream that you were running and running and not going anyplace? That is sort of what it was like-with the burning spider web. Only it wasn't really a spider web, there was no spider and it wasn't burning. But I was caught in this thing, going around it and through it. But I wasn't really moving. That is not completely right, but I do not know how else to put it. And I had to keep trying– actually, I wanted to-to move about it. When I woke up I was tired, as if I had actually been exerting myself all night long. This went on for many nights, and each night it seemed stronger and longer and more real.
“Then this morning I got up, the dream still dancing in my head, and I knew that I could ride home. I set out, still half dreaming, it seemed. I rode the entire distance without stopping once, and this time I paid no special heed to my surroundings, but kept thinking of Avalon-and as I rode, things kept getting more and more familiar until I was here again. Only then did it seem as if I were fully awake. Now the village and the Tecys, that sky, those stars, the woods, the mountains, they all seem like a dream to me. I am not at all certain that I could find my way back there. Is that not strange? Can you tell me what happened?”
I rose and circled the remains of our lunch. I sat down beside her.
“Do you remember the looks of the burning spider web that really wasn't a spider web, or burning?” I asked her.
“Yes-sort of,” she said.
“Give me that knife,” I said.
She passed it to me.
With its point, I began adding to her doodling in the dirt, extending lines, rubbing some out, adding others. She did not say a word the entire time, but she watched every move that I made. When I had finished, I put the knife aside and waited for a long, silent while. Then, finally, she spoke very softly.
“Yes, that is it,” she said, turning away from the design to stare at me. “How did you know? How did you know what I had dreamed?”
“Because,” I said, “you dreamed a thing that is inscribed in your very genes. Why, how, I do not know. It demonstrates, however, that you are indeed a daughter of Amber. What you did was walk in Shadow. What you dreamed was the Great Pattern of Amber. By its power do those of the blood royal hold dominion over shadows. Do you understand what I am talking about?”
“I am not certain,” she said. “I do not think so. I have heard Grandpa cursing shadows, but I never understood what he meant.”
“Then you do not know where Amber truly lies.”
“No. He was always evasive. He told me of Amber and of the family. But I do not even know the direction in which Amber lies. I only know that it is far.”
“It lies in all directions,” I said, “or any direction one chooses. One need but—”
“Yes!” she interrupted. “I had forgotten, or thought he was just being mysterious or humoring me, but Brand said exactly the same thing a long while ago. What does it mean, though?”
“Brand! When was Brand here?”
“Years ago,” she said, “when I was just a little girl. He used to visit here often. I was very much in love with him and I pestered him mercilessly. He used to tell me stories, teach me games...”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Oh, eight or nine years ago. I'd say.”
“Have you met any of the others?”
“Yes,” she said. “Julian and Gerard were here not too long ago. Just a few months back.”
I suddenly felt very insecure. Benedict had certainly been quiet about a lot of things. I would rather have been ill advised than kept totally ignorant of affairs. It makes it easier for you to be angry when you find out. The trouble with Benedict was that he was too honest, though. He would rather tell me nothing than lie to me. I felt something unpleasant coming my way, however, and knew that there could be no dawdling now, that I would have to move as quickly as possible. Yes, it had to be a hard hellride for the stones. Still, there was more to be learned here before I essayed it. Time... Damn!
“Was that the first time that you met them?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, “and my feelings were very hurt.” She paused, sighed. “Grandpa would not let me speak of our being related. He introduced me as his ward. And he refused to tell me why. Damn it!”
“I'm sure he had some very good reasons.”
“Oh, I am too. But it does not make you feel any better, when you have been waiting all your life to meet your relatives. Do you know why he treated me like that?”
“These are trying times in Amber,” I said, “and things will get worse before they get better. The fewer people who know of your existence, the less chance there is of your getting involved and coming to harm. He did it only to protect you.” She made a spitting noise.
“I do not need protecting,” she said. “I can take care of myself.”
“You are a fine fencer,” I said. “Unfortunately, life is more complicated than a fair dueling situation.”
“I know that. I'm not a child. But—”
“ 'But' nothing! He did the same thing I'd do if you were mine. He's protecting himself as well as you. I'm surprised he let Brand know about you. He's going to be damned mad that I found out.” Her head jerked and she stared at me, eyes wide.
“But you wouldn't do anything to hurt us,” she said. “We-we're related . “
“How the hell do you know why I'm here or what I'm thinking?” I said. “You might have just stuck both your necks in nooses!”
“You are joking, aren't you?” she said, slowly raising her left hand between us.
“I don't know,” I said. “I need not be-and I wouldn't be talking about it if I did have something rotten in mind, would I?”
“No... I guess not,” she said.
“I am going to tell you something Benedict should have told you long ago,” I said. “Never trust a relative. It is far worse than trusting strangers. With a stranger there is a possibility that you might be safe.”
“You really mean that, don't you?”
“Yes.”
“Yourself included?” I smiled.
“Of course it does not apply to me. I am the soul of honor, kindness, mercy, and goodness. Trust me in all things.”
“I will,” she said, and I laughed.
“I will,” she insisted. “You would not hurt us. I know that.”
“Tell me about Gerard and Julian,” I said, feeling uncomfortable, as always, in the presence of unsolicited trust. “What was the reason for their visit?”
She was silent for a moment, still studying me, then, “I have been telling you quite a few things,” she said, “haven't I? You are right. One can never be too careful. I believe that it is your turn to talk again.”