PATTERNS REPEAT THEMSELVES

Blood, Fire, Lightning, and Lyre

 

BLEYS' TALE: BLOOD

 

      I am a romantic by heart, but I am also a sorceror, and so when I woke with Fiona's breath warm on my cheek and still felt chilled, I knew what had happened.  I am a wizard as much as I am a lover, and the signs and symbols that spoke whispered of further ice.

      I kissed my love, and with a gallant flourish pulled the blankets up around her.  I slid out of the bed.  -I will return, my sweet.- 

      I felt a murmur of mental assent, as she drifted back into dreaming.  I dressed, watching her as I did it.  There was a youth to her, asleep.  It was an innocence gained rather than lost, I felt.  I watched as the cares and worries left her, but this solace was new to both of us.  Our nightmares were gone, and we were each other's talismans, dispatching the creatures of fear.

      I spoke some words of magic to ease her worries, and headed downstairs for my steed.   I would need hie back to the land of nightmares and start a new seed from sprouting in that land.

 

      I was there to reach for his hand as he climbed upwards, and I was there to sit down next to him and throw rocks into the Pit.  I was there for him, and I resented his surprise.

      Except for the clattering noises of pebbles hitting the precipices, it was silent and cold.  I shared that feeling. It warred with my desires.  I was not alone.  He had returned. We would…be…again.  I underlined the words in my head, trying to keep my mind clear in the silence. 

     

      My thoughts wandered for several minutes, while Brand continued a long silence punctuated by the occasional meaningful look.  I was busy thinking of Deirdre, and of the draped bodies, both human and demon, lying across the fields, and of whether or not there should be a memorial erected in this place.  "Here died Amber," or something equally pithy.

      A sharp sigh broke me from my reverie, and I looked at him as if for the first time. No arrow with a silver tip stuck through his throat, no sign of scars. I glanced quickly at his eyes.  Fever-bright, green… I looked away just as fast.

      I was caught between the impulse to cry, to hug him, or simply to give him a hard right hook. As for which emotion was winning the tussle, I can say that my fists were itching.

 

      "You knew," he said, finally.  I wasn't sure if it was an accusation.

     I was annoyed anyway.  It was the principle of the matter. "I studied under the Old Man, too," I pointed out.  Maybe it wasn't necessary…  But no, to him I was never anymore than someone passing good with the blade, and barely worthy for the scraps I begged of the secrets of the Trumps.  Despite my passions, I would never be Bleys the magician.

      "I hadn't thought… but nevermind," he said, shrugging.  There was as much apology in that shrug as an Amberite ever gave another, and I accepted it.  I absorbed that he didn't so much as say he was sorry, either.  We have a careful ledger of checks and balances between us.

 

      I glanced the question at him, and he looked away. Don't leave me now, I asked, silently.

      "It was very…cold," he said. 

      "Colder, I expect, for Deirdre."  Did I accuse him this time?

      He gave me a fleeting look of curiosity, but then nodded, as if finding the answer somewhere in my expression.  So much for leaving it deliberately blank; good old Bleys, always the emotional one.  Passionate, like I said.   Full of fire, but don't disregard the passion of ice.

      "Colder, yes," he answered, and it was intentional, like he was searching for something painful, something to feed his demons.

      I resolved to be quiet. I wouldn't give him anything to chew on if that was his goal. Wasn't a dive in the Abyss absolution enough?

      "It was Caine?" he asked, as if it mattered.

      "It was a long time ago, Brand."  Did my irritation show, too?

      "You used to call me 'brother,'" he said, softly.

      At his tone I looked up, and met his eyes.  That was my mistake.

 

      A moment later, I pulled away from his demanding lips and hands.  "You -are- cold," I affirmed.  So cold…his gaze was tinged with a little bit of melting ice, but something was still frozen at the core.

      "And you are Bleys, the fire," he whispered, looking at me dreamily.  I could feel him just beyond my thoughts, warming himself with my soul.  Draining me, drawing me in once more.  His hands tugged gently at my shirt, drawing cold lines against my skin with his fingertips.

      I thought briefly of the warmth I had found with Fiona, and then just as quickly, forced it out of my mind.  I prayed with a sincere and sudden passion that Brand had not caught the abrupt flare.  None of us were good at keeping secrets from each other, and this one…this one was the only one that had ever mattered.

     

     "What of the future?" I asked, after several minutes of keeping warm against each other.  Did the demons that played along the edges watch us?  Did they come around this accursed place of death and old souls?  Did they laugh at two redheaded men wrapping around each other as if to tie themselves into knots of warmth and contact?

      You could have asked me if I cared, and I would have told you, "No." 

      "Is it that different from the past?" he asked, lazily.  He stretched like a cat.  "You cannot tell me that the family is all so changed," he said, laughing quietly.  "Or perhaps without Father's influence we have all grown-up?  Florimel, perhaps, is a doting wife, Llewella is a minister, Gerard is a father of twins and raises goats up high on Kolvir?"  His eyebrows belied the sincerity of his words.

      "Close," I suggested.  I gave him my patented grin.

      "And Fiona…" he was quiet, and I tried not to jump as he said her name.  My heart fluttered, and he was too close not to notice.  "Ah, she is not much different, is she?" The laughter was not hidden in his tone, this time.

      I sighed and took a deep breath.  For the first time in my life, I looked into Brand's eyes and lied.  "No, she is still much the same."    

      "Good," he said. I did not like the look of his smile.

 

      "The question was raised," I reminded him.

      "Are you asking me if I intend to follow the plans that I had once designed?" he asked me.  He laughed as he kissed my jaw.  "To rule the universe, is that what you would have me desire?"

      I pulled at a strand of his hair. "Is that a denial?" I asked, softly.

      "You have no ambition," he accused.  "Is life without Oberon so idyllic, so pleasurable that the quest for power has no rewards?"  He nibbled at my ear for a moment, whispering, "Do you no longer seek our sister?  Do you say that the pursuit of magic holds no…interest?"

      I let the wave of warmth override my immediate chill.

      "I see that you do," Brand murmured as he kissed my cheek.  "Tell me of her."

 

      Each word was torture.  I felt pain, as if a line of electricity was pulling tight across my chest.  "She is…" I looked away, and held myself in, with a strength I had not known I possessed.  She could not know of this.  She must not know of this.  I looked at his eyes, and I could not mistake his expression as anything but hunger.

      "Much the same, I know," he mocked me.  "You said," he reminded.  "Did she miss me?"

      "Yes."  That much was the truth.  "We both did," I added, quickly enough to suggest I had been hurt by his tone. 

      He kissed my lips this time, and I felt little warmth from it.  He pulled away and smiled, tousling my red locks.  "I like this.  Long hair is good on you," he said, as if he were changing the subject.  "Now, tell me what I want to know."

      I thought momentarily of asking, "Which is?" but I knew better.  A perverse, self-destructive urge would have had me tell the truth, that we had been dying until we found solace in each other.  But this was not the brother I knew.  Not the brother I had loved.  Not the brother he had been until the infection of power that caused his madness.  His time in the Abyss had numbed him, and despite that there was no scar at his throat, I saw no signs of healing.

      "She is alone."  She does not know I am here, brother, is all I meant.  She does not know what I must do, and she does not know you have returned.  By the Unicorn's blessings, she will -never- know.

      "Ah, Fiona," he said, and I could see his teeth as he smiled.  He tossed his head back, and leaned on his arms against the grass.  "What she thought brought her strength was her denial.  I would have had that in indulgence."

      "I know," I said, simply.  I was chilled again.

      "Cold?" he asked.

      "Yes," I said. The truth.

      "It was cold," he began again.  "I was cold.  I could feel Deirdre struggling in my arms, and then something brushed past us both, something like blood and fire and lightning.  Like music," he mused, with a fond smile.  "I lost Deedee, and I lost the Jewel, and then I was lost."  He shook his head, as if to rid it of memory, losing his smile in the process.  "I dreamed."

      "Of what?" I tried to make it sound like idle curiosity.

      He rested his head against my chest, and drew his knees up.  I ran my hands through his red hair, and waited.   He drew on my strength, and I felt myself give to him, as my mind retreated to a place we once shared.  It was with some small shock, a tension I tried not to show in my limbs, that I realized I was alone there.

 

      "This would be more pleasant elsewhere," he said.  "I dislike the look of this place, and the associated memories are dry and tasteless." 

      I felt numb.  I felt cold. A taste of the Abyss.

      I took out my Trump of Amber.  "Shall we?" I asked.  He moved away, and I stood.  I brushed off the grass of the hill, and gazed over the fields for a moment, remembering my vow to Amber's King.

      "I think so," he said.  His look was amused, almost pleased.

      I thought about Deirdre.

      I thought about Amber.

      I gave him a hand up.  He turned to look at the Abyss.  "One last look."

      I thought about Fiona.  I thought about his smile, the look of madness only hiding behind his bright eyes. I felt a chill as he studied the grey mists below, as if finding some truth there.

      I thought about Fiona.

     

      I have ridden to the land of nightmares, my love.  I would weave the story to her, of a beast fearsome, with green eyes and a remembered smile.  But it was not our brother, I would tell her.  It was a shadow, a dream… a wish.   I defeated it for you.

      There is a sliver of the Abyss in my heart.