I struggled along, always continuing upward, and the fogs thinned and changed color. Finally, I could see that I was climbing toward a wide plateau. Above it, I began to catch glimpses of the sky, many-colored and churning.
There were several sharp claps of thunder at my back, but I still could not see the disposition of the storm. I increased my pace then, but began to grow dizzy after a few minutes. I stopped and seated myself on the ground, panting. I was overwhelmed with a sense of failure. Even if I made it up to the plateau, I had a feeling that the storm would roar right across it. I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. What was the use of going on if there was no way I could make it?
A shadow moved through the pistachio mists, dropped toward me. I raised my staff, then saw that it was only Hugi. He braked himself and landed at my feet.
“Corwin,” he said, “you have come a good distance.”
“But maybe not good enough,” I said. “The storm seems to be getting nearer.”
“I believe that it is. I have been meditating and would like to give you the benefit of —”
“If you want to benefit me at all,” I said, “I could tell you what to do.”
“What is that?”
“Fly back and see how far off the storm really is, and how fast it seems to be moving. Then come and tell me.” Hugi hopped from one foot to the other. Then, “All right,” he said, and leaped into the air and batted his way toward what I felt to be the northwest.
I leaned on the staff and rose. I might as well keep climbing at the best pace I could manage. I drew upon the Jewel again, and strength came into me like a red lightning flash.
As I mounted the slope, a damp breeze sprang up from the direction in which Hugi had departed. There came another thunderclap. No more growls and rumbles.
I made the most of the influx of energy, climbing quickly and efficiently for several hundred meters. If I were going to lose, I might as well make it to the top first. I might as well see where I was and learn whether there was anything at all left for me to try.
My view of the sky grew more and more clear as I climbed. It had changed considerably since last I had regarded it. Half of it was of uninterrupted blackness and the other half those masses of swimming colors. And the entire heavenly bowl seemed to be rotating about a point directly overhead. I began to grow excited. This was the sky I was seeking, the sky which had covered me that time I had journeyed to Chaos. I struggled higher. I wanted to utter something heartening, but my throat was too dry.
As I neared the rim of the plateau, I heard a flapping sound and Hugi was suddenly on my shoulder.
“The storm is about ready to crawl up your arse,” he said. “Be here any minute.”
I continued climbing, reached level ground and hauled myself up to it. I stood for a moment then, breathing heavily. The wind must have kept the area clear of fog, for it was a high, smooth plain, and I could see the sky for a great distance ahead. I advanced, to find a point from which I could see beyond the farther edge. As I moved, the sounds of the storm came to me more clearly.
“I do not believe you will make it across,” Hugi said, “without getting wet.”
“You know that is no ordinary storm,” I croaked. “If it were. I’d be thankful for the chance of getting a drink.”
“I know. I was speaking figuratively.”
I growled something vulgar and kept going.
Gradually, the vista before me enlarged. The sky still did its crazy veil dance, but the illumination was more than sufficient. When I reached a position where I was positive what lay before me, I halted and sagged against my staff.
“What is the matter?” Hugi asked.
But I could not speak. I simply gestured at the great wasteland which commenced somewhere below the farther lip of the plateau to sweep on for at least forty miles before butting up against another range of mountains. And far off to the left and still running strong went the black road.
“The waste?” he said. “I could have told you it was there. Why didn’t you ask me?”
I made a noise halfway between a groan and a sob and sank slowly to the ground.
How long I remained so, I am not certain. I felt more than a little delirious. In the midst of it I seemed to see a possible answer, though something within me rebelled against it. I was finally roused by the noises of the storm and Hugi’s chattering.
“I can’t beat it across that place,” I whispered. “There is no way.”
“You say you have failed,” Hugi said. “But this is not so. There is neither failure nor victory in striving. It is all but an illusion of the ego.”
I rose slowly to my knees.
“I did not say that I had failed.”
“You said that you cannot go on to your destination.” I looked back, to where lightnings now flashed as the storm climbed toward me.
“That’s right, I cannot do it that way. But if Dad failed, I have got to attempt something that Brand tried to convince me only he could do. I have to create a new Pattern, and I have to do it right, here.”
“You? Create a new Pattern? If Oberon failed, how could a man who can barely stay on his feet do it? No, Corwin. Resignation is the greatest virtue you might cultivate.”
I raised my head and lowered the staff to the ground. Hugi fluttered down to stand beside it and I regarded him.
“You do not want to believe any of the things that I said, do you?” I told him. “It does not matter, though. The conflict between our views is irreducible. I see desire as hidden identity and striving as its growth. You do not.” I moved my hands forward and rested them on my knees. “If for you the greatest good is union with the Absolute, then why do you not fly to join it now, in the form of the all-pervading Chaos which approaches? If I fail here, it will become Absolute. As for me, I must try, for so long as there is breath within me, to raise up a Pattern against it. I do this because I am what I am, and I am the man who could have been king in Amber.”
Hugi lowered his head.
“I’ll see you eat crow first,” he said, and he chuckled.
I reached out quickly and twisted his head off, wishing that I had time to build a fire. Though he made it look like a sacrifice, it is difficult to say to whom the moral victory belonged, since I was planning on doing it anyway.
Chapter 9
…Cassis, and the smell of the chestnut blossoms. All along the Champs-Elysies the chestnuts were foaming white…
I remembered the play of the fountains in the Place de la Concorde… And down the Rue de la Seine and along the quais, the smell of the old books, the smell of the river… The smell of chestnut blossoms…
Why should I suddenly remember 1905 and Paris on the shadow Earth, save that I was very happy that year and I might, reflexively, have sought an antidote for the present? Yes…
White absinthe, Amer Picon, grenadine… Wild strawberries, with Creme d’Isigny… Chess at the Cafe de la Regence with actors from the Comedie Francaise, just across the way… The races at Chantilly… Evenings at the Boite a Fursy on the Rue Pigalle…
I placed my left foot firmly before my right, my right before my left. In my left hand, I held the chain from which the Jewel depended — and I carried it high, so that I could stare into the stone’s depths, seeing and feeling there the emergence of the new Pattern which I described with each step. I had screwed my staff into the ground and left it to stand near the Pattern’s beginning. Left…
The wind sang about me and there was thunder near at hand. I did not meet with the physical resistance that I did on the old Pattern. There was no resistance at all. Instead — and in many ways worse — a peculiar deliberation had come over all my movements, slowing them, ritualizing them. I seemed to expend more energy in preparing for each step — perceiving it, realizing it and ordering my mind for its execution — than I did in the physical performance of the act. Yet the slowness seemed to require itself, was exacted of me by some unknown agency which determined precision and an adagio tempo for all my movements. Right…