20.
Ambrose.
In my bathroom, I strip naked
and soak for a long while in the hot
tub. Afterwards I shave, put on some clean clothes and head
back to the study from where I make a few calls to let everyone know that,
yes I’m fine, just like the time I’d been sailing in Bermuda for
a week and hadn’t left a fax
number. I also place a couple
of calls to have my Ferrari un-impounded, repaired, and brought back to
Connecticut. Then I write in
my journal. By the time I’m
finished it’s already dark. I
flip on the news, but there’re
none. Wildfires in the Pacific
West – there’re always wildfires in the Pacific
West. Congressional hearings of something – there’re
always congressional hearings. A
holdup in New Jersey, a gunman reportedly wearing a disguise of a gigantic
rat. I turn the TV off and head
to bed.
There’s much business to
attend to in the next few days.
Yes, of course a thought of going back to the hospital crosses my
mind now and then, and to be honest quite often, but I fight
it. Not just yet, when I see
Elektra the next time I shall be ready.
Also I have an uncomfortable feeling that the very moment those gray
dagger blades stab into my soul, she would know all what’s there to
know about what has occurred in the caverns of
Kashfa. Weird, of course, that
I should be concerned – even if she were to find out, it’s not
like she’s my girlfriend or anyone significant, and she most probably
wouldn’t care anyway this way or the other, not after disappearing without
a trace for three
years.
Then finally the business affairs
seem to clear up, so in the morning I get in my Mercedes – no one owns
just a Ferrari, after all – and instead of the office, start toward
the store where I’ve found the
Trumps. Who knows, perhaps other
things might be there as well. But
upon arrival it looks like a wasted trip, as my extensive search of the store
doesn’t turn up anything
interesting. The proprietor
– an old man I spoke to previously – is not in and infrequent customers
are attended by a rather tall woman with short bright hair, and a face of
hard beauty. She looks up at
me impassively as I step to the counter.
I read her name from a small nameplate pinned to her impeccably white
blouse – Jasra.
“Can I help you,
sir?”
“I hope so… I was here a while back and found some unusual Tarot cards. I was wondering if you had any more of them, and if you happened to know where you acquired them in the first place?”
She silently produces several decks of Tarot cards, but those are of a common kind. I try to describe the cards I search for, more and more realizing that actually it’s not easy to do. She gives no encouragement or any sign of understanding my rather garbled explanations, and most probably simply waits for me to leave as it’s nearing the closing time. I’m ready to do just that when she finally speaks.
“I’ve no idea where such cards could come from, but there’re a few I think might’ve belonged to that deck but got separated.”
She reaches down under the counter drawing a few cards and spreading them in front of me. The Trumps! Finally! None looks familiar though. There’s one depicting a large blond man in a green doublet and a black cloak lined with an emerald green. A heavy circular medallion of gold bearing a Lion rending a Unicorn hangs on a gold chain around his neck. Three others are of places – strange places. There’s a fortress standing on pocked, cracked and steaming land – an amazingly huge and complex structure surrounded by high dark walls, bigger even than the palace at Amber and somber as hell. There’s a mountain crag, something indistinct beyond it, a strangely stippled sky, a scattering of stars to the left. There’s a valley of quirked perspective filled with natural-seeming spires and minarets interspersed with silvery trees, spotted with mirror-like pools, cut by what appears to be a trail.
“How…how much?”
“Oh, they were supposed to be a part of that larger deck anyway, so aren’t worth anything by themselves. Suppose you may just have them.” I somewhat doubt her words as the style seems to be completely different from that of the other deck, but what the hell… they are Trumps!
“There’s however another thing you might be interested in,” she continues holding a nice gold ring with a blue crystal set in diamonds. Although I’ve seen many a precious stone, the one in the ring looked unfamiliar.
“Very rare. Only a few had ever been made and they’re supposed to bring good luck.” She leans forward taking my hand and sliding the ring on my middle finger. “But look, it fits perfectly as if were made for you!”
Jasra’s fingers are cold like snakes. I feel it’d be rude to leave without actually buying something, so I pay for the ring, which is priced very reasonably indeed, and soon I’m on my way home. The Trumps burn my pocket. For some unclear reason I’m reluctant to wear the ring, though, and take it off slipping it into my pocket next to them.
When I get home, I place a few rather pricey and unusual orders – a titanium saber with a gold scabbard and a matching dagger, one suit of chain mail with titanium links, assorted low technology camping supplies, and a good trail horse from the stables. Needless to say, I spend the money to have it ‘rush ordered’. After making those arrangements, I glance at the cards, being careful to not focus too much on any of them, and wonder if I’m truly ready for what I’m intending...
… Anywhere, any world, any place I can imagine. Not such a difficult choice, really... A world of magic, of elves and dwarves, of orcish hordes, and dragons, of nymphs riding on unicorns in the forest… A place of adventure… Getting there... that would be likely to be more of an adventure then the stay, from what I’ve read and sensed.
It took only a few days for the stuff to arrive. Then, I pack my saddlebags, mount my steed and start riding towards a world like the one I imagined, with elves, dwarves, dragons, and course, beautiful damsels to save. As to my pace, it’s cautious, focusing carefully on getting to my destination. The changes are minor at first – the grass grows longer, the trees taller. There are dragonflies buzzing, although they’re supposed to be out of season. It takes hours until my surroundings are closer to what I deem suitable. Nowhere near there yet, but it clearly isn’t Shadow Earth any longer. I really can do magic! I’m not all that good at it yet, but I’m just starting out. Besides, I’m going to a world of wizards. I really want to fry some rocks with a fireball, and this is my chance. To go to a world where magic’s in the air and nymphs are frolicking about on unicorns. So what if it’s the holy symbol of Amber? I’m sure I’d find some copies around somewhere, just like they sell little statues of Liberty all over the place in New York. When the skies turn dark I dismount, tend to my horse, make camp, set up some motion detectors at the perimeter – yep, still working so far – and go to sleep.
I’m standing in a tower with all sorts of books and vials of
oddities. I realize that it’s
my tower, and that I’m the master of the tower of
ecky-ecky-ecky-peking-Zoom... err, formerly known as the tower of
Ni. I tap my staff on the ground
three times, and in a puff of smoke I appear in a village, dressed in a fine
velvet robe befitting the great sorcerer I
am. A village square’s
empty. Either everyone’s
working the fields or they all hid at the sight of a mighty wizard…
But wait!
There’s a woman in blue
sitting on a small bench under an oak tree, sorting flowers for a garland.
She looks up from her work as
I approach, smiling enchantingly.
Her long, low cut dress of fine
satin ascertains perfect breasts and a statuesque figure.
Her eyes are blue and her hair
is blond and fall free on her marble shoulders.
I feel struck by the kind of beauty I’ve neither seen
before nor ever thought possible.
Unable to control myself, I
take her in my arms, but she slips away easily and with surprising strength,
and puts her long-nailed finger to her ruby-red
lips.
“Ssshhhh… You must do nothing of the kind…
for I’m yourAunt, Florimel.”
All alone, I wake up in my camp
having no idea what to think of the dream still vivid in my mind.
I brake camp and ride down the
dusty trail for several hours, the changes seeming very subtle until I get
closer to the village.
Eventually, the forest thins
into rolling hills and I see a stocky woman in a homespun brown dress tending
a field with hand tools. I know
I’m getting closer to my goal and continue on for a time, though the
scenery becomes darker then I’ve expected.
Around the next hill a peasant
has only one arm, and looks at me with madness in his bloodshot eyes.
A few farms down the winding
road and I’d swear the farmer’s some sort of a beastman.
It charges at me but I’m
faster and a crossbow bolt sinks deep into its chest.
And people used to say that
archery was a waste of time! I wait a short time for the creature to stop twitching
and go to investigate. The creature
seems to be some sort of orc, which means I’m getting very close.
A quick search of its body shows
that, instead of gold the orc was carrying only some food one wouldn’t
give to a beggar, and what looks to be finger bones all in all – a rather
disturbing encounter, not at all what I’ve thought my glorious adventure
would be like. But I’m
sure it would get better.
I’m not there quite yet...
The dream returns that very night,
but this time the beautiful blonde is wearing a purple gown of the
early18th century style.
She’s standing
on the top of a marble staircase in the wide opened doors of what appears
to be a Baroque style palace decorated with many columns and sculptures.
The lights burn bright and the
music is sweet in a large hall behind her where silhouettes of many people
similarly dressed can be distinguished.
She smiles benevolently as I
run toward her, stumbling a couple of times on the steps.
“Florimel!”
“Call me Flora, everyone else
does,” she answers in a somewhat businesslike manner.
“You said you were my Aunt!
But then you must know who my
real parents are! Are they alive?
Why did they abandon me?
Who am
I?”
“So many questions,” her
smile’s broad and I can see much tenderness in her blue eyes.
“Oh, yes, your parents.
Your father always was my favorite,
as a matter of fact, and still is, though I don’t see much of him
nowadays,” she sighs, “I don’t know your mother that well,
nor do I know where she might be by now.”
“Who are
they?”
“Everything’s in good time,
darling, everything’s in good time…
But now the time’s very short, and I must warn you,
for you’re in grave danger.
You must be extremely careful
to avoid becoming a tool in the hands of an evil witch called Jasra.
She will use you toward her
purpose and then discard, as she’d done with great many people
before…”
”Jasra?
A sales girl from the antique
store??”
“Oh no, no, she’s no sales
girl, but a very powerful and very evil sorceress.
Even now her minions follow
your every step. You must get
rid of the tragolith…”
The lights behind her suddenly go off
and the music stops and then… there is no one in the dark portal leading
into a dilapidated ruins of the building…
I wake up pretty sure by now that my dreams are not random ones, and beautiful Flora is not a product of my imagination, though I’ve no idea how. There’re more pressing questions however. What the hell is a tragolith? And another one, which occurs to me only then – does she know Fiona?
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