Pattern Walk
Tenterden, Mid-November 2007; Amber, Late-Spring and Elsewhere
The Trump call I'd been expecting from Ian came the following afternoon.
"Hey Wolf."
"Where are you?"
"Amber currently. I've talked to Marcus. He's okay with you bringing Armand to walk the Pattern."
"That's good news. Did he say when?"
"You talk to Armand, figure out a time, then Trump me. I'll be here for the next couple of days, anyway."
"Thanks, Mihai. That gives us time to organise for him to take a leave of absence. I doubt his commanding officer would appreciate him walking away for an unspecified amount of time."
"You could always talk to Dieter. No-one is going to argue with him, I suspect."
I sighed, although I couldn't deny that he was probably right. Even merely as Oberstgruppenführer Ritter, Dieter had a lot of influence in the GGR.
Ian obviously spotted my hesitation, commenting "Wolf, he'll be fine with you. You get along with him reasonably well."
"That doesn't mean I'm quite ready to face him yet," I answered, "but yes, you're probably right."
"It's obviously your choice," he said, with a mental shrug, "call me when you want to come through."
"I will," I answered, and with that I broke the link. Then, with some hesitation, I shuffled Dieter's card out of my pack and concentrated on it.
"Greetings, Wolfgang," he said, as he opened the link, "this is a pleasant surprise."
I didn't recognise the room behind him, which mean he wasn't in the Chancellery in Germania. Was he back on Tenterden for a bit?
"Good afternoon, Herr Oberstgruppenführer," I said, respectfully. After all, he was my superior officer, and there was no point pissing him off without reason.
"I heard you had a small misfortune...I trust you're fully recovered now?"
"Pretty much."
As always when talking to either Dieter or Armand, I appreciated the chance to converse in my native tongue. Even after so long, I miss speaking German in England.
"So how can I help you?"
"Might we meet in person? I'd rather not discuss it over a Trump link."
"Very wise," he replied and stood to offer me his hand. I took it and stepped through, into an office which was lined with bookshelves, and with a variety of anthropological specimens littering the majority of the flat surfaces. I obviously don't have Ian's sensitivity to Tenterden, but it didn't feel like I'd travelled very far, so I guessed we were in his office in Ahnenerbe Headquarters, Berlin. Almost by instinct, I found myself saluting, and then settled into a parade ground rest.
"The Family rely on these too much, without worrying if they might be compromised," he commented, indicating the card as I returned it to my deck, "so how can I help you, Standartenführer Ulrich?"
"I wish to arrange a leave of absence for Obersturmführer Becker."
"Might I ask why?"
"A potential threat to his safety has been brought to my attention, and I want to take him to the Pattern."
"And knowing that I requested the same thing for my daughter, of your father, recently, you've come to me?"
"I don't want his record to reflect an unauthorised absence. I was hoping you might be willing to help that happen - or rather, not happen."
"I am not his superior officer."
"No, I understand that. But I believe you do have an interest in him, and so I thought I would ask."
"How long are you thinking of?"
"A fortnight should cover it. I'll need to take him to Amber, then he'll need a couple of days to recover, after which I would want to spend a while teaching him about Shadow."
"It usually takes more than ten days."
"Time is relative, sir, as I'm sure you are aware."
"And of course, your father has given you partial control of Tenterden."
He seemed resentful as he said it, but then, he'd had the chance to claim the world before Ian walked the Pattern, and he'd never taken it. I hadn't realised that he was aware of the Key I'd been given for when Ian wasn't around, but no doubt Dieter was savvy enough to have figured out that someone was controlling the time flow when my father was away in Amber, and there would have been a short list of suspects.
"Yes sir."
"I will recommend it to his commanding officer, and make sure he is issued travel papers to London within the next couple of days. On one condition..."
"Sir?"
"That once he's recovered, you bring him to see me on Germania. He should see the place, as it is as much is birthright as yours. I trust that will be acceptable?"
The idea didn't thrill me, especially in light of the Working. But I realised I didn't have much choice but to agree.
"Yes, Herr Oberstgruppenführer."
"Good. As I assume you'll use that as his first lesson in Shadow travel, I suggest you call me when you're setting out, so I know when to expect you. In the current climate, that would seem sensible."
"Agreed," I answered, knowing that whatever motivations he had for wanted me to take Armand to his personal Shadow, having the fall back of someone who was actually expecting us, and would therefore miss us if we didn't arrive, was wise.
I paused for a moment, debating whether to push my luck and ask him about my other son. However, he took the decision out of my hands.
"Is there something else, Standartenführer Ulrich?"
"How's Thorsten? Is he alright?"
"He is none the worse for wear, thank you for asking," he replied, indicating for me to sit, which I duly did, "I wondered if that had prompted your request regarding Armand."
"Ian told me what had happened, and I've spoken with Geran about it. I understand they weren't on Germania at the time?"
"No...and I would like to think that the Untermensch's agents would have been unsuccessful if they had been. This incident has caused me to revise my opinions of how much the lad should be allowed to travel without my approval. However, on the other hand, boys will be boys..."
"So it sounds. Why do I have a feeling I'm going to be a grandfather sooner rather than later."
"Would that really be such a bad thing, Wolfgang," he chided, softly, "If that's how he wishes to serve his country, then I would be the last person to stop him. As I'm sure you're well aware."
I nodded in acknowledgement.
"Do you have an opinion as to whether I should let him retain his freedom?"
"No-one thrives in captivity, Herr Oberstgruppenführer," I answered, "that said, despite the fact that he and I don't know each other well, I would not want to see him come to harm. And I'm glad he has a friend of around his own age in Erik, even if I'm not entirely sure right now which of them is the worse influence on the other. However, any choice will obviously be yours, and I'm sure you will choose the best one for him."
"You still resent that I kept knowledge of you from him, don't you? That I did not want him to know that you were his father."
Yes I did. Of course I did. But it wasn't exactly in a position to tell him that.
"I do not understand why you made that decision," I answered, keeping my tone as neutral as I could.
"Really? Knowing what you do of him? Knowing the high hopes I have for him?"
"Would his knowing that Ian was his grandfather...that I was his father...have made that much difference?"
"I did not want him confused," came the answer, a coldness in his tone that wasn't there before, "I wanted him to maintain his focus. Germania is his home. Germania is his duty."
"Of course," I answered, bowing my head in submission, accepting the rebuke.
"Not that my blabbermouth brother Matthew appreciated that. As far as I can tell, he took positive glee in defying me in that regard. Still, hopefully no harm was done."
"He certainly still seemed to be your devoted student at the Wewelsburg," I said, still trying to sound neutral.
"Indeed he was," came the answer, "although I was also proud of your willingness to participate."
Willingness? I suppose, in the end it had been.
"It served its purpose."
"Indeed it did. Now, was there anything else? I'm a busy man?"
"That was everything, Herr Oberstgruppenführer," I replied, knowing a dismissal when I heard one. I got to my feet, saluted, and walked out of his office into a corridor which reminded me very much of my days at university. As I looked around, the majority of the other people here were in uniform, and I was very aware of being underdressed. Still, I wasn't planning on staying.
I strode confidently down the corridor, knowing that despite my appearance, I was less likely to be challenged if I looked like I was meant to be there, then found the nearest staircase and headed downstairs. As I reached the ground floor, I checked around me to make sure I was alone in the stair lobby, and then took the risk of shifting one Shadow over. From there, I moved carefully but quickly back towards my London, via a couple of other worlds en route, and came back on-Shadow in Docklands. It was close enough, and from there I took the DLR back to Bank, and then caught the Tube.
Armand called me the following evening, when I was sitting in the lounge with Ava, reading a book on new directions in the study of ballistics. Ava grumbled as I upset her and moved to answer the phone.
"Hey Dad."
"Good to hear from you. Any problems?"
"Nothing since we last spoke," he answered, "I wanted to let you know that I'll be arriving at Heathrow tomorrow morning, on LH 3571. It gets into Terminal One at 11.30. "
"Good. I'll meet you there."
"I wasn't expecting travel papers. Is this about what we discussed the other night?"
"Yes. It's all organised. I'll bring you back here so you can unpack, and then we can head off."
"I'll see you then," he replied, and hung up.
The following morning, I dug the M5 out of the garage - it has more luggage space than the 911, but can still do 240kmph on the flat - and set off for Heathrow.
I arrived around the time his flight was due to land, and bought myself a coffee before settling down to wait, hoping he wouldn't be caught up for to long in immigration. For some reason, I felt nervous. It was the first time he'd been allowed back to England since he'd studied with Ian, and I hoped Dieter hadn't changed his mind and cancelled his travel permit at the last minute. However, about twenty minutes after LH 3571 had clicked up as "Arrived", I saw him emerge from the customs hall. He was dressed in jeans and a grey denim shirt over a plain t-shirt, and still had the beard. He was travelling light, with just a hand-luggage sized backpack, and looked around him nervously.
Then he smiled broadly when he saw me, which warmed my heart, and came over.
"How are you doing?" he asked, as we shook hands, and then pulled each other into a bear hug.
"No more disasters since I last saw you," I replied, letting him go, "come on...this way."
We got the Beemer out of hock, to head back into town, and I was pleased that he was suitably appreciative of it. I have to admit it's probably the best car I've owned, even eclipsing my beloved Audi, which met it's end on the M2 many years before. As usual, as we approached the flyover, I found myself cursing the M4 Bus Lane. Who the Hell would build a bus lane on the motorway? Still, I managed to make up the time afterwards - after all, I know where the speed cameras are so I can avoid them - and I pulled the car into the garage near my flat about forty minutes after collecting him. I locked up and we headed inside, to be met by Ava, who appraised Armand critically - to be rewarded by a scritch between the ears - before disappearing to do some important sleeping.
I showed him to the guest room, pointed out the other bathroom, and gave him time to freshen up, while I went back to the kitchen and brewed a cafetière of coffee. He joined me a couple of minutes later, and we adjourned to the lounge.
"When did you get a cat?" he asked, as he settled into one of the armchairs, to be joined by the aforementioned feline. She spent a while making him comfortable, before honouring him by going to sleep on his lap.
"About eighteen months ago. With Michel having got married to Tony, and Ian becoming a more infrequent visitor, I wanted the company."
"You're seeing less of him?"
"He's busy elsewhere a lot of the time."
"Ah."
"So did you have any difficulty escaping Danzig for a few days?"
"That was all very odd," he replied, cautiously, "When Sturmbannführer Neumann called me into his office, I was surprised. I wondered if I was in trouble over sneaking out the other night, but instead he handed me temporary orders. I'd been put on detached duty for three weeks. They told me to report to Standartenführer Ulrich, SS-Ahnenerbe, in London, and were signed by Oberstgruppenführer Ritter himself. Herr Neumann didn't seem pleased, as we were due to go on patrol in the hills around Olzytyn tomorrow - bloody partisans again - but there wasn't a lot he could do about it. Did you have something to do with that?"
"I asked Herr Ritter if he could arrange for you to have an official leave of absence. However, it seems like he's found another way of achieving the same effect."
"So how and when did you get promoted? You aren't even officially in the GGR military anymore."
"Being officially dead and all?"
"Well, now you mention it..."
"I hold my rank in the SS on Germania."
"His ideal German Reich? The one we talked about the other night?"
"Yes. My guess is he's using that as the basis for the orders. After all, he is my commanding officer there. And maybe he's decided that after twenty-five years, it's safe for my name to be mentioned in the context of the Ahnenerbe here again, as well."
"Your commanding officer? I imagine Ian isn't very pleased about that."
"We've had several robust exchanges of view on the subject over the years."
I saw him smile at that.
"I can imagine..." he said, with a chuckle, added, "...good coffee."
"One of my little luxuries. I can't abide bad coffee."
"The stuff we get in barracks is evil. It's a pleasure to taste the good stuff for a change."
He fell silent for a couple of minutes, savouring the aroma and generally enjoying the moment, before speaking again.
"So what happens now?"
"Whenever you're ready, I'll Trump Ian. He's in Amber at the moment...he's the local mayor there, over and above everything else. I'm not sure what time it is there currently, though. I guess I'll find out when I call."
"Why wouldn't it be the same time as here?"
"Different worlds have different time flows...and even those aren't stable. If you have enough affinity for a place, you can actually learn to adjust the clock relative to Amber."
"You can do that?"
"No, but Ian can, and he's set me up with a token that lets me do it when I'm here and he's elsewhere. It's pretty handy, because otherwise I get stuck here with time flowing far more slowly for me than it does for him."
"This is still all confusing."
"It won't be by the time we're finished."
"So what do I do when I get there?"
"We'll head down to the basement, one of us will give you the instructions and then you'll set about walking the Pattern. Don't expect it to be a cakewalk...it's exhausting and dangerous, and you need to keep your wits about you. However, I'm confident that you'll be fine. Then, once you get to the middle, you can ask it to take you anywhere you want. I'd suggest that you come back to your room downstairs. Once you've recovered...which might take a couple of days, but there's no hurry...I'll take you into Shadow and show you how to use it. Did you bring my Trump?"
"Yes."
"Good. Leave it downstairs with the rest of your stuff, and when you get back here, call me. It's the quickest way for me to get back here. You'll get your own deck once you've walked the Pattern anyway, so I'll grab the card back from you then. Be warned, though, I think one of the side effects of you doing this will be that your card appears in everybody's deck."
"Seems like some kind of bizarre collectable card game."
"Except everyone has the some ones...it's more like having your own personal Tarot deck, and they can actually be used like that: either on their own, or mixed in with a normal pack. I've seen the family cards used instead of the Major Arcana when Ian's occasionally done Trump readings."
"Anything else?"
"I'll tell you the rest when we get there. In the meantime, I suggest we grab some lunch, so you aren't doing this on an empty stomach, and then get gone."
We locked up and headed over to my favourite corner Italian café - which has been run by my friend Adamo and his family for something like twenty-five years - where we tucked into a reasonably substantial lunch. Armand grew quieter as we ate, and I guessed he was beginning to feel nervous.
"You'll be fine," I commented, as I paid up and we went back outside and walked back towards my place.
"You seem very confident," he answered.
"Any reason why I shouldn't be?"
"I suppose not. It's just..."
"It's just what if there's been some kind of mistake? You're Lebensborn, after all. What if there was some kind of mix-up?"
"Something like that, yes."
"Believe me, Armand, there hasn't been."
"How can you be sure?"
"I just know. I knew the first time you and I met. It's going to be fine. Are you ready?"
"As I'll ever be," he replied, as I let us in and closed the door behind us.
"Okay then."
I got my deck out of my pocket, shuffled out Ian's and started concentrating on it. There was a slight delay, and then I made contact. He looked to be in one of the drawing rooms in Amber Castle, and in the background I could hear voices.
"Is this a good time?" I asked?"
"It's fine," he replied, "I was just talking to Matthew and Geran. Ready?"
"Yep," I answered, and offered Armand my hand. Puzzled, he took it and I passed him through to Ian, before going through myself. Looking out of the windows, it felt like early evening.
Armand had pretty much stopped dead, and was looking around him, taking everything in, from the stone walls, to the rugs on the carpets, to the tapestries decorating the room. Geran himself was wearing some kind of uniform, heavily laden with braid, possibly from Brandenburg. However, least Matthew was dressed more normally, at least to a visitor from the 21st century, in his usual polo shirt and shorts. He seemed tired, though, and was surrounded by Dworkin's lesson boxes.
He really has to learn how to Just Say No.
"It's real?" Armand said, quietly.
"Of course," I answered, "believe me, I couldn't have made this place up."
At that point, introductions were made all around: formally from Geran and with the usual decorum I've come to expect from Matthew. And of course Matthew's comments were peppered with his usual distaste towards Thorsten. I wish I knew why they disliked each other so much.
Armand introduced himself and then listened, trying to keep up as much as anything else. He recognised Thorsten's name from our conversation a couple of nights before: it was just a pity that the context in which his brother was discussed was to do with dubious photographs. I'm not sure I want to know what mischief Thorsten and Erik get up to together, but apparently Geran hadn't been exaggerating when he'd told me they'd been...ahem...partying, when they'd been grabbed by Random.
Of course, my uncles (yes, I know they're technically great uncles, but it's hard to think of them as being two generations above me when I'm older than they are) were interested in who Armand was, and what he was doing in Amber, and the Pattern inevitably came up. However, as soon as he reasonably could, Ian made our excuses, so we could set about our business. I got the distinct impression that my father wanted to minimise the time Armand was in Amber, possibly in the hope that he wouldn't come onto the radar too badly: a view I found myself sharing.
"So why does Matthew loathe my brother so much?" my son asked as we walked towards Marcus's office.
"I genuinely don't know," I answered, "Ian?"
"Likewise. Maybe he just doesn't like the idea that someone looks so similar to him. Self-identity can be a funny thing. Maybe he feels threatened because he thinks Thorsten is trying to take something from him. Probably not helped by the fact that the first time they met, he was mistaken for your brother, Armand, and things got hairy for a while. There's also the whole parallel that Matthew is Dworkin's favourite student in matters arcane, and Thorsten has a very similar relationship with cousin Dieter."
"Your grandfather?" Armand asked me, and I nodded.
It took a little while to reach Marcus's office, because Armand was spending a lot of time looking around him and taking in Amber Castle. He seemed fascinated to see something so obviously fantastical come to life. And of course, the scale of the place is something to behold. However, when we arrived, Marcus was expecting us. He even did a good job of not obviously looking at his watch.
"So you're Ian's grandson?" Marcus commented, looking Armand up and down, and then offered his hand, "pleased to meet you. Have you been told what to expect?"
"In general terms," he replied, accepting the handshake, "although Dad said that he would go through the actual details once we got here."
Marcus looked over at me, quizzically.
"When I walked it, I found that despite Ian pre-warning me what to expect, it meant more to me when I could see what he was talking about."
"Makes sense," he answered, with a shrug, "shall we...?"
And we set off for the Pattern Room.
Of course, when I did it, it was up in Tir-na Nog'th, so the length of the staircase down to the basement in the real world took me somewhat by surprise. In fact, by the end I was quite pleased that I'd arranged for Armand to Trump me back to Tenterden once he had returned there, as the prospect of walking back up all those bloody stairs didn't thrill me at all. It would probably have been fine if I had been at full fitness, but while I'd got back into my usual weights routine since I'd got back to the flat, it had only been a few days, and getting my body back to its usual condition was still a work in progress.
Armand followed me down in silence, and I could tell that he was getting nervous about the whole prospect. I walked near him, and tried to be supportive and reassuring. As we got closer, I could almost feel the Pattern drawing us in, and from his expression, I had the impression my son did as well.
"You'll be fine," I said quietly to him, to be met by a weak smile.
Marcus and Ian negotiated us past the guards, Marcus let Ian unlock the door, and we stepped inside, whereupon I saw the actual Pattern of Amber for the first time. It was considerably more substantial than the one in Tir-na Nog'th, but less so than the Primal, where we'd undertaken the Jewel working, and it burned on the ground like blue fire.
"Is it going to kill me?" Armand asked, quietly.
"Not if you follow the instructions," I replied, doing my best to sound calm, although inside I was nervous: I did not want to see my son die on the Pattern.
"Which are?"
"In simple terms, once you step on it, you have to finish it. You can't step off it. You can't stop or it will kill you. Just follow the line all the way around."
"Which is presumably harder than it sounds."
"Following the path isn't. Pacing yourself so you have the strength to finish, is," Ian commented as he joined us, "but you're Wolf's son. There's no reason why you shouldn't succeed."
"What else?"
"You'll see memories as you walk," I offered, although how many memories he could have accumulated in twenty-six years was a different question.
"Memories."
"Don't let them bother you. Just keep walking, and keep your eye on the centre. On the way, you'll come across three Veil points. Those will be the hardest. The form they take varies, but it's normally something which was a major struggle in your life. Something you had to overcome to survive."
"Anything else?" he asked with a reticence I wasn't expecting.
"You may feel a current...resistance perhaps...as you walk," Ian offered, "again, don't let that stop you. And when you get to the middle, think of somewhere safe, and it will take you there."
"I think that all makes sense," he said, and with a nod I guided him around to the start.
"Ready?" I asked, quietly.
"As I'll ever be," he replied, and put his foot on the line.
"Do you need for me to stay with you? Or can I head back upstairs?" Ian asked, walking round to join me.
I was surprised at the question, as I'd assumed he'd be as keen as I was to make sure Armand made it okay.
"Don't stay if you don't want to," I answered, and I realised that I sounded hurt, "if making sure your grandson doesn't die is interrupting your busy schedule, your Crown Princeness."
"That's not what I meant," he answered, somewhat defensively.
"Then what?" I snapped, turning towards him, "I thought you'd want to make sure he was safe."
"Gods Wolf. I thought you might appreciate the privacy to share this with your son. There was nothing more to it than that, except that I'm not sure how long I want to leave Matthew and Geran speculating on their own upstairs. What the Hell is wrong with you at the moment?"
"Other than the fact that I just got beaten and tortured again because of you?"
"We talked about this the other day," he answered, bemused, "I thought we'd figured it out."
"I haven't bloody figured it out," I answered, hotly, "Perhaps once this has happened to you...once you've ended up being tortured and all but killed for no reason except malice, you'll understand, but until then..."
"So what the Hell do you call what Dieter's done to me in the past?"
"In his mind...business. You actively pissed him off. Twice."
"You're taking his side?"
"No."
"It sounds like it."
"Then you don't know what you're talking about. You know, just go...I'd rather you weren't here if you don't want to be."
"Both of you. Shut up," snapped Marcus, coming over, "do you really think you two arguing is going to help him?"
As he spoke, he indicated Armand, who was approaching the First Veil.
"He's got enough to think about," he said, firmly, "Ian, go back upstairs...Wolf, let him go."
Ian looked at me, obviously deciding whether to argue, and then wisely turned on his heel and headed for the door, with a parting comment of "At least let me know when he's made it."
And then he was gone.
"What was all that about?" Marcus asked, curious.
"I don't know," I answered, with a sigh, because truth to tell, I had no reason why I'd reacted the way I had. Maybe I was mentally more screwed over about what had happened to me a couple of weeks before than I'd realised.
"Are you okay?" he said, more quietly.
"To be honest, right now I don't know...but that's not your problem, it's mine."
"If you say so," he replied, and with a slight shrug, he turned back to watch Armand's progress. Obviously not the emotional touchy feely type, my Uncle Marcus.
My son was through the First Veil, but he didn't seem to be having that easy a time of it, and I wondered what it was he'd had to overcome to get past that first big test. He'd hadn't said a great deal to me about his childhood in the years that we'd known each other. I knew he'd been born in the Berlin Lebensborn Centre, and largely brought up within it, although he had also talked about his mother, which seemed to be something of a disconnect. The logical conclusion was that she'd stayed on to work at the Centre afterwards, which would have let him see a reasonable amount of her: certainly enough for them to become close.
But he'd also talked about living in the dorms with the other children So it was more as if he had effectively been at boarding school, and she was one of his teachers. He just hadn't gone into a lot of details, except for the occasional mention of scrapes he'd got into with his best friend, Artur, with whom he seemed to have had a similar relationship to the one I had shared with Michael Gerber.
The only other thing I knew for sure was that he'd lost her to cancer a few months before I first met him, and I wondered if that loss was what the First Veil had thrown at him. And yet he'd seemed to struggle too much for him to have just been reliving a bereavement, even of a much loved parent. More to the point, if that was what he'd seen at the First Veil, what were Veils Two and Three storing up for him?
I stood on the sidelines, willing him on and occasionally shouting encouragement, especially when he began slowing into the Second Veil. He looked tired now, and my heart went out to him. I wished I had a Trump of him that I could use to send him support, but I didn't. Not yet. I found myself holding my breath as he hit the Veil, but after a struggle, he was through and moving again, albeit more slowly than he had been before.
"Relax. He's got this far," Marcus commented, "if it was going to kill him, it probably would have done so by now."
"Assuming his strength doesn't give out," I replied.
Although I appreciated that my uncle was probably trying to sound reassuring, it didn't stop me worrying. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as I watched him, hardly breathing as he fought on. And then he was slowing again, into the Third Veil, and soon he barely seemed to be moving at all.
"Keep going," I yelled to him, "don't let it beat you."
And sure, while he probably didn't hear me, I desperately needed to do something.
The moment he hit the Third Veil, I thought he'd stopped, and I could see the sparks around him dancing ever higher, blocking my view of him. They didn't move for what seemed to be an age, instead just burning brighter, and I stared helplessly, hoping I wasn't seeing what I feared I was. And then I saw movement, a human form silhouetted against the Pattern, as it emerged from the man-height sparks. He managed the last three steps to the middle, but then he fell to his knees, slumped sideways and lay still, curled in a foetal position. Thank God he managed to stay within the centre, rather than falling onto one of the lines.
"Go help him," Marcus said to me, indicating the start, and I stepped onto the Pattern to follow my son.
At least I'd walked it before, and I knew what to expect. That didn't make it a pleasant experience. I only want to relive Bucharest, Russia and the Wewelsburg so often, and this time it also threw in Germania and my most recent brush with death, to make things worse. But at least it was a familiar one. I followed my own rules, remembered what it had done to me the first time, and made my way towards him as quickly as I could.
It still seemed to take forever.
As I took the last three steps into the middle, I was tired, but not as tired as I had been the first time. Maybe my general fitness wasn't as bad as I'd feared. I knelt down beside him, being very careful where I placed my knees, and felt for a pulse. It was slow, but at least he had one, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I put my hand on his shoulder, and ordered the Pattern to take us back to the guest bedroom in my flat, and moments later we transferred.
I hefted him onto the bed, noting that he felt like he was burning up, and found myself wishing that I had Ian's medical knowledge. However, he moaned slightly as I moved him, and flinched as I touched him, which hopefully meant that he was just unconscious, rather than comatose. I left him long enough to fetch the Key Ian had given me, so I could make sure time was on our side relative to Amber. Once that was done, I went to the bathroom, soaked a towel in cold water, and then came and sat with him, dabbing his forehead to try to cool him down. I also worked one or two techniques I'd learned with the Group to link with him, and try to feed him energy .
I sat vigil with him for several hours, helped by Ava who appeared to keep us company and supervised from the dressing table. He seemed so helpless - I'm swear I wasn't that vulnerable after I walked it - and he looked painfully young, although I think that was more my view of him, than the Pattern having particularly affected him. After all, he was the age he looked...there was no "when did you last feel alive" to change him. But images of sitting beside Thorsten in a similar state of vulnerability came unbidden to mind, and I wondered if I was doomed forever to sit at the bedside of my children.
Maybe Ian felt similarly, given how often he'd done the same for me over the years.
As I waited, I found myself alternating between praying that he was going to be okay, and muttering Pagan incantations which might help him, which kind of summed up how confused my Faith and my beliefs are. However, something must have worked, as eventually, by the time the clock had crept round to nine in the evening, his temperature had returned to nearer normal, and I heard the note of his breathing change. A few minutes later, he slowly opened his eyes.
"I guess I made it?" he croaked.
"Yes," I said, quietly.
"I thought I was dead."
"It was closer than I would have liked," I admitted, "but you survived. What happened?"
"I was fighting that last barrier and just couldn't get through, however hard I tried. I was pretty desperate by the end. I had to kill him."
"Who?"
"He was blocking my way. He wouldn't listen to me when I asked him to stand aside, and I had to kill him again. I shouldn't have had to do that. He should have already been dead. It's not fair."
"Who?" I repeated, not sure if he'd heard me the first time.
"Hölzer...who else?" he answered, and it was obvious that was all he was going to say, perhaps because he assumed I knew who he was talking about. Maybe he was confused about where he was, which was quite possible. I debated with myself about whether I should press him, but came to the conclusion that he was entitled to his privacy: Ian had never asked me what I'd had to overcome to break through the Veils, and I owed it to my son to give him the same courtesy.
He lapsed into silence, and as he lay there, I could see a haunted expression on his face as he thought about what he'd seen, although at least he had uncurled from the foetal position. Who the Hell was Hölzer?
"Armand...?"
"Am I going to be okay?"
"Yes. You just need a couple of days rest."
"I didn't realise it would be like that. If I had, I wouldn't have done it."
"You're safe now."
Ava chose that moment to jump onto the bed from her perch, and started snuggling up to him, as if she was aware he was distressed. He gently reached out a hand to her and stroked her between the ears, and she collapsed in a boneless purring heap in the curl of his stomach.
"You need to sleep," I said, getting to me feet and squeezing his shoulder, "it won't seem as bad in the morning."
"I'm not sure I can. I'll just see him again."
"Let me help," I offered, and reached out to touch him on the temple.
With a couple of words I activated the post-hypnotic trigger I'd set when I'd first started teaching him some of the Group's techniques, and then watched his eyes close and he drifted off into a proper, healthy sleep. I waited beside him for a few minutes, long enough to convince myself that he was going to be out for a while, and then left boy and cat to it and headed upstairs to make myself something supper.
Once I had eaten, I came to the conclusion that however much I wanted to, I couldn't put calling Ian off any longer, especially given the risk that Marcus might say something to him first. I put the dishes in the dishwasher, and went back to the lounge. I poured myself a glass of schnapps then put both bottle and glass on the table beside me and dug his card out of my deck.
"Wolf?" he said, as he answered, and I got the impression he'd been waiting anxiously for my call. Behind him, the scenery looked like the same room he'd been in early, and I could still hear Geran and Matthew arguing in the background. Had so little time really passed? "How is he?"
"It was touch and go for a while, but he made it."
"Thanks the gods. What went wrong?"
"I don't know...but the Third Veil nearly killed him. I ended up having to walk it myself and get him out of the middle."
"I'm so sorry you had to go through that. It must have been terrifying for both of you. Has he given you any idea what the problem was?"
"Not really. He mentioned something about having to kill someone called Hölzer...again. But he wasn't very coherent. I'm hoping he'll say more once he's more himself. But believe me, I'm not planning to ever take him back to the Pattern."
"I can understand that," he answered, and we fell silent for a short while, although I was strangely reluctant to break the link, which he obviously noticed, "Something else is bothering you...what?"
I paused, before replying.
"I don't know why I reacted the way I did, earlier...down in the Pattern Room. Will you forgive me?"
"There's obviously more bothering you than I'd realised," he said, quietly, "once this is all over, and we have time to catch our breath, you and I need to talk. We have to figure this out."
"I'm not sure what we need to figure out...that's the problem However, over Trump probably isn't the best place to discuss this."
"No, maybe not. What's your plan now?"
"I'm going to give him a couple of days to recover, and then I'll take him out into Shadow and teach him how to use the Pattern. He's walked it, so he might as well know what to do with it."
"Agreed. But be careful."
"I intend to be," I answered, then added, "Dieter wants to see him. When I asked him about a leave of absence for Armand, he allowed it on condition that I take him to Germania."
"Did he say why?"
"No, and I didn't ask. He's suggested I call him when we're leaving...so he knows when to expect us, I suppose."
"In the current climate, that makes a lot of sense, especially given what happened to Thorsten," Ian admitted, "although you know I'd rather you didn't go anywhere near the place."
"I know."
He obviously considered arguing with me, but eventually he just sighed.
"Just keep me in the loop."
"I will. Thank you, Mihai."
"I'll talk to you later."
"Likewise," I answered, and broke off the contact.
I returned his card to my deck, then put it back in my pocket and sat back in my chair and downed my glass. I debated for a moment, then I poured another one and put that on the table beside me instead.
Who the Hell was Hölzer, and why had Armand rambled about killing him again? It was the "again" that was bothering me. Presumably something had happened between them either when he was growing up, or when he was at Bad Tölz, and it had come to blows. But for it to have ended in a death? Was Armand guilty of murdering someone, or had it been an accident? I hoped to God it was the latter, even though I certainly couldn't throw stones on that subject if it had been murder. But I didn't like the implication of "had to kill him". It suggested a certain amount of premeditation.
My inner PI was fascinated and curious; my outer parent was concerned and frustrated. Hopefully, while we were in Shadow he would trust me enough to tell me what had happened, if I could find a good way to bring the subject up.
From there my mind wandered to the whole of his Pattern walk, and just how close I'd come to losing him, and I felt a lump in my throat. Was it just that he was even a generation down from me, and therefore five generations down from Dworkin? That his blood was too thin to have safely put him on the bloody thing? And yet he had Family blood on both sides, and the strength of Chaos backing that up, and I would have hoped that would have given him a better chance.
Or was there something else at play?
I sat in silence for a while, drinking and staring out of the window at the darkness and contemplating, but after an hour or so I had to admit that I hadn't come to any conclusions. Knowing that there wasn't anything else I could do about it tonight, I got slowly to my feet, took the empty glass out to the kitchen and then headed downstairs to my room.
Maybe tomorrow would bring some insights.
* * * * * *
It took him three days to fully recover from his ordeal, during which time he ate and slept, and occasionally went out for a walk - either with me or on his own - but he seemed unusually quiet. And even when we did talk, I could tell that underneath, there was something bothering him which he didn't want to share. Concern was definitely winning over curiosity, and I wondered if there was some way I could broach the subject of what was wrong.
"So what happens now?" he asked, as we finished up breakfast the following morning. I'd noted when he came into the kitchen that morning, that he finally seemed more like his old self, as if he'd come to terms with what had happened.
"If you're feeling up to it, I was thinking of taking you out into Shadow and starting to teach you the basics."
"I thought you'd have asked before."
"I didn't want to rush you. I wanted to be sure you'd recovered. The Pattern takes a lot out of you."
"I know that well enough. So what do we do?"
"If you have a decent pair of walking shoes with you, I was planning to set off on foot. It's the best way to go through the details, and gives you more options to see what's out there. If we took a vehicle, we'd be limited to places where it worked."
"Where it worked?"
"Physics and chemistry are variable. So is magic. So is the rate of time flow. And so is the level of technology a place can sustain. On the subject of which, this might seem like an odd question, but have you used a sword?"
"I fenced a bit at the Centre, but that's about it. Why?"
"You didn't do sword drill at Bad Tölz?"
"Only enough not to trip over the damned thing during parades."
"Pity... Still, guns I know you can use."
"I didn't bring one with me, though - an assault rifle wouldn't have gone down well in hand luggage."
"Not a problem," I answered, and headed for my office, where I got both my own Glock 17 and my backup, a smaller Glock 26, out of the gun cabinet, along with a couple of boxes of ammo. I handed the 26 to him, butt first, plus one of the ammo boxes. The 17 and the other ammo I left on my desk to pick up later.
"I'm going to need this?" he asked as he took the weapon and checked it with the effortless competence of someone well used to guns.
That's my boy.
"If there really is a threat out there, and someone is looking for Family out on their own, it's best to be prepared. The main thing to be aware of is that guns don't work everywhere..."
"Because science varies."
"Exactly.
"This all sounds less peculiar than it did when you met me for a beer a few days ago. But then, now I know the Pattern is real, and I understand more for what you were saying."
"Grab your things, and we can get going. I just need to make a couple of calls and we'll be on the way."
We headed downstairs, and I snagged the go-bag from beside my wardrobe. Having to replace the one I'd lost after I'd been grabbed by whichever psychotic bastard had nearly killed me, had been annoying, but at least I'd got it done. I also took my officer's sword from the shelf in the top of the wardrobe. It wasn't as well balanced as the one Geran had given me, which I kept in Amber, but at least I was familiar with it.
Thus organised, I went upstairs to my office while Armand packed. I threw the 17 and ammo in my bag, checked the knife in my ankle sheath, then made a couple of calls: one phone, one Trump. The phone call was to Michel, asking her if she'd come and look in on Ava. The Trump call was to Dieter, to tell him we were setting off. I debated contacting Ian as well, but given the speed I had Tenterden running, the chances were that it had only been a few minutes. Then I got the Key out of my safe - along with my usual Group athame, just in case - and slowed the place back to one for one to Amber. I was just filling Ava's food and water bowls when Armand joined me.
"All set?" I asked.
"I think so."
"Then let's head out."
I picked up my pack and the sword, wrapping the belt around the hilt.
"You really weren't joking, were you?" he said, watching as I wedged the blade in between the pack and my back, so it would be less obvious for carrying while we were in public.
"Nope. The advantage of a sword is that you can use it anywhere. It's basically a sharpened lump of metal with no moving parts. So wherever you end up, it's going to work. Same with knives and daggers. Blades are pretty much the weapon of choice for the Family. It's worth your while learning how to use all of the above, but you need to be taught by someone who really knows how to fight with them...having your life depend on your ability with a blade is a stage beyond where most re-enactors get to. Really, you're talking serious stunt fighters, or soldiers."
As we talked, we headed out and I locked the door behind us. Then we set off at a brisk walk towards Kensington Gardens, which had the advantage of being large, and unlikely to be overly populated on a cold but clear late-November morning. Perfect for shifting away from.
"Where did you learn?"
"After he took me to the Pattern, Ian showed me around Shadow...much as I'm going to do with you. We spent a few months on a Medieval world, where I had the opportunity to study with some very experienced swordsmen. I think I took to it better than him. Of the pair of us, he's the tactician, and I'm the brawn."
"Sounds like a handy combination."
"Most of the time."
"So why Kensington Gardens?"
"Lesson number one. If you're going to shift Shadow, do it where you have some room, and where you aren't going to be spotted by too many people who will try to take your photo for the National Enquirer. Why don't you put yourself in a light trance, just to sharpen up your senses, and then you'll hopefully have a better feel for what I'm doing."
He did as he was told, and I began to shift us away from Tenterden. I hadn't walked to Germania before - I usually called Dieter directly - but given the approximate relative locations between Tenterden and Germania in Shadow, I guessed it would take a couple of days to get there.
Once we were a couple of Shadows from Tenterden, I belted on the sword, letting it hang at my left hip - unlike my father, I'm not a south paw - then clipped the 17 in its holster to my belt on the other side. He followed suit with the 26. Then, once I felt suitably armed, I started moving again. He watched with fascination as I made the calculations, explaining as we went along what I was doing. And he was a quick student. After an hour or so, he felt confident enough to try to make some of the changes himself. I helped him to visualise Germania, which was our ultimate destination, and guided him in the right direction, but other than that I let him do the work. As he 'drove' his face was a mask of concentration, but from his body language it was obvious that he was actually enjoying himself. I found myself feeling so proud of him.
We camped that evening at the edge of a quiet, sylvan grove, with lush green grass that looked like it had never seen a human presence, and a brook trickling through it. It seemed safe and peaceful, and something about the atmosphere reminded me of the places where the Group meets, which are usually strongly warded, to protect the natural peace within. Armand just seemed fascinated by somewhere so clean and still.
Still, however safe it felt, my paranoid streak wasn't giving up without a fight, and we split the night between us into two watches. I took the first one, to give him a chance to sleep: Shadow walking is tiring, especially when you do it the first time. I was sitting on a fallen log to one side, watching and listening, when I thought I heard some kind of creature moving across the clearing. I slid to the ground, so the log was at my back and I was less obvious, and then scanned the treeline, glad that there was enough light from the full moon to make out silhouettes.
Eventually I saw them. They looked like a group of children. About half a dozen of them. But there was something odd in the way they were moving. I studied them well as I could, and eventually realised what it was. Their legs didn't look human: they were more animal. And there were tiny horns on their heads. Fauns? I didn't know they even existed outside of fantasy fiction.
Very carefully, I reached over to Armand, and woke him up, putting my finger to my lips to indicate that he should be quiet. He nodded his understanding, and moved very carefully to a sitting position, as I pointed out our visitors. And as I looked, more and more strange creatures were moving through the trees towards the clearing. Some looked human. Others definitely didn't, and soon I heard the sound of pipes and the light tap of a drum, coming closer and closer. We watched in silent fascination, as the assembled creatures...beings...began to dance.
"Is it real?" Armand whispered.
"You can find anything in Shadow," I said, quietly.
"This is just how I imagined the Dancing Lawn in Prince Caspian."
I realised exactly what he meant, but before I could answered, I heard giggling behind us. I moved instantly, turning and getting to my knees, with my gun already in hand in moments.
"You don't need that, Child of Nature," said a musical voice, and my eyes slowly resolved a tall, willowy woman dressed in a short tunic, with leaves in her hair, "you're one of us. One who understands the magic in nature. Join us and dance."
She reached out towards me, but I hesitated. Danger can come in many forms...although I had to admit, the atmosphere of this place didn't feel threatening. It felt more like a place of hope, and dreams, and somewhere it was safe to let myself go.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Nyissa. I mean you no harm."
"Forgive me if I don't take that on face value.
"Oh you poor child," she said, quietly, "So suspicious. What happened to wound your soul so? I promise you. Nothing will harm you here."
As I watched, another woman, dressed similarly, came out of the trees to join her, eyes fixed on Armand.
"Do you dance, little one?" she said to him, as she stepped towards him.
"Sometimes," he answered, and as I watched, he got to his feet and crossed to her. Then she took him by the hand, and pulled him towards the clearing.
"Your cub is braver than you, I think," the first woman said, gently, "come with me...leave your pain behind for a while."
I still hesitated, but she seemed patient, and eventually I succumbed, hoping that my impression of the place wasn't playing me false. She took my by the hand, and led me to the circle, and soon I found myself caught up in the revels. We danced, and we feasted, and we enjoyed each other's company, both physically and mentally, and at the most primal level, I finally let myself trust them. It was a new experience for me, and I found myself relishing it. After that my memories become blurred, although somewhere in my mind I felt myself running through the forest with the freedom of the creature whose name I share, my senses clear and sharp.
When I finally awoke, the sun had risen, and I realised I was lying naked just outside our campsite. My suspicions immediately returned. Had we been tricked, attacked, stripped and left for dead? But as I pulled myself up into a sitting position, and I spotted a small pile of my possessions near at hand, and I realised that I felt relaxed, healthy and well rested for the first time in as long as I could remember. Maybe she really had helped me to leave my pain behind for a little while? I certainly found myself remembering what seemed like forever in her arms and I found myself blushing fiercely at what we had done.
Trying to fight down the memory, and the physical arousal that went with it, I moved carefully over to the pile of stuff, and checked, that everything was there. Nothing was missing, and the clothes smelt of freshness and spring. I dressed quickly, and then got to my feet and looked around me, searching for my son. He was lying on the other side of the campsite, and like me, his possessions were close at hand, and for a moment I felt that the word Nyissa had used to describe him, my cub, seemed strangely appropriate.
Then I saw him beginning to stir and turned away to give him his privacy, looking instead back towards the clearing. It all looked exactly as it had the night before, as if we'd imagined everything. Except in my heart I was sure we hadn't. Armand, joined me a few minutes later, also now fully dressed.
"Did it really happen?" he asked, quietly.
"I don't know," I answered, and headed towards the clearing. I studied the grass, and saw the imprints of many footprints, far from all of them human. They certainly hadn't been there the night before.
"I think it must have," I said, quietly, and I could hear the awe in my own voice.
"It was wonderful...magical. Is Shadow always like this?"
"I've never come across anything like it," I admitted, "but then, I'm not as well travelled as Ian is."
"How do you feel? You seem...younger, somehow."
"Maybe I feel rested for the first time in far too long," I answered, then brought myself back to the present, "I should find breakfast. Do you want to get a fire going?"
"Will do," he replied, and with a wistful look back at the meadow, he returned to the campsite.
I used the Pattern to rustle up bacon and eggs, and then rejoined him, and we sat in silence as we cooked and ate. Then, probably a couple of hours after dawn, feeling relaxed and well fed, we set off.
As we moved through Shadow, my suspicions began to return, and I left the peace of the clearing behind to get back to my previous vigilance against anyone who might wish to do us harm. Which was probably why I realised before they hit us that something was wrong. We were moving along a grassy ride through a patch of light deciduous woodland, with thin undergrowth and cliffs a couple of hundred feet off to the right, when I realised that it was too quiet. I had heard birdsong earlier, but the fact that it had stopped forced its way into my consciousness. I started looking around for somewhere which might be more defensible, but short of sprinting for the cliffs, it wasn't really that kind of territory.
"Dad?" he asked, but I indicated for him to halt and be quiet.
I moved back to back with him, hand going to the butt of the 17, and then started slowly scanning our surroundings to see if I could figure out what was wrong. Like the trained soldier he was, he picked up that there was a problem, and moved with me, so we couldn't be caught unawares.
Nothing moved, and I began to wonder if I was being paranoid.
"False alarm, I think," I said, quietly, "but let's be careful. I hadn't got to it yet, but one of the other things you can do with the Pattern is affect probability. It helps you look for specific things. I'm going to seek somewhere a bit more defensible. You keep an eye out - shout if anything seems out of place."
And with that, I took over again, and began to move towards a patch of higher ground, with defensive qualities and good line of sight. We shifted to a patch of moorland, with high rocky crags, and I looked for the best place to pause and wait for a bit. The light was clear and I could sense Armand at my back, scanning the ridge line for movement. I found a place I liked the look of in short order, and then called a break.
"What do you think it was?" he asked, as we sat down on a couple of rocks with a small spring issuing from the ground nearby, and I pulled a couple of high-energy ration bars out of my pack. I handed him one and opened the other one myself.
"I don't know," I answered, as I ate, "it may have been nothing. Perhaps I'm just jumpy from the last time I was out in Shadow alone."
"The problems you had a couple of weeks ago? What exactly happened?"
"Someone grabbed me because I wasn't being careful enough. Someone from the Family. I think it was Caine."
"He's the pirate, right? Nasty disposition and a love of knives."
"That's the one. Obviously you did learn some things from..."
I broke off as I heard the sound of a stone skittering across the rock. This time I definitely hadn't imagined it. I was instantly on my feet, gun drawn. Armand followed my lead, and we stood back to back, scanning for movement. After a moment or two, I spotted something vaguely feline moving cautiously up the rocks towards us. And then another, and another. I fired a warning shot, and was rewarded when one of the creatures shied away. However, then I heard some kind of whistle, and the beast returned its attention to me. I cursed roundly as I realised that the bloody things were being controlled.
"This isn't good, is it?" Armand asked, and I saw him bring his own weapon and start tracking across to hit one of the creatures.
"Nope," I answered, and let off another shot: not a warning this time. One of the creatures dropped like a stone, but suddenly I could see more of them around us, rather than less. Moreover, in the distance, I could see human silhouettes, and behind me Armand fired. The 26 might be smaller than the 17, but it packs a reasonable punch. I heard another one whimper, and then the attack began in earnest.
My protective instincts kicked in - guarding my 'cub' again, I suppose - and instantly I was fighting all out, determined that no harm would come to my son. Unfortunately, our shots didn't seem to be making that much difference to the number of creatures. They seemed to just keep coming, and were getting in closer every time, as if they weren't bothered that their companions were dying around me. Behind me, I heard Armand curse as he used up his last shot - no time to reload - and I handed back the 17 to him, then drew my sword.
"You deal with distance. I'll deal with close in," I told him and began wading in. At which point I realised that the creatures didn't seem right. They didn't seem solid somehow, as if they were some kind of illusion. Sure, they fell when I hit them, but there wasn't any blood. We'd wasted our ammunition on ghosts.
Unlike the men who had come up behind them. They were bloody real.
There looked to be about a dozen of them, the majority armed with swords, although the ones towards the back had bows. I discovered this when I felt a sharp pain in the meat of my left shoulder, and looked down to see the arrow shaft sticking out of it.
"Get back towards the rocks," I ordered my son, and he ran in that direction, ducking into a cleft between two of the larger ones and taking up a firing position to cover me. In the meantime, I stood ahead of him, trying to stem the tide of attackers, furious that this had happened again, and soon my rage took over and I saw red.
I fought like a demon, and accounted for a good half of them, but if I'd been sensible enough to realise my predicament, I would have known it was a losing battle. Eventually blood loss from my shoulder, along with a number of other, lesser cuts and bruises, took their toll, and I felt myself fall to my knees. The last thing I heard as my attackers set about me with the hilts of their blades, and the repeated blows to the head took me down, was a final shot before the slide on the 17 locked back, the magazine empty.