I certainly did not expect the Unicorns of Sapphire and Amber to simply turn up at the mention of their names by Abyss, the Father. Let alone in the form of young girls, as they did. Not quite what I expected. Especially after seeing the Unicorn of Sapphire sleeping next to its Pattern there when I assayed the Eye of Aleph.
I also did not expect them to disagree on the way forward for the universe. Or be berated for it, when apparently it is we who are to decide that route. As sources of new ideas and viewpoints.
It was also interesting to learn that even the Father and the Mother have fought, in the dim and distant past when they first met. At least they are past that now.
Apparently Abyss wishes to see the merging Sapphire, De'Alund, Amber and Corwin's realm of Pavalaris into one Pattern Realm, as the of a new 'Elder Empire' run by the Children of the Primal Beings. Perhaps that is, indeed, a way forward, although I cannot help thinking that merely putting them all in proximity to one another and then assuming politics will then bring them together is perhaps not the way forward. Though I can also see it could be a retrograde step if handled incorrectly. Amber and Rebma hardly form a glowing example of how close together two adjacent Pattern-realms can grow...
I also suggested a similar repair to the Godly and Fae axes. As far as I can tell they are even more in need to repair than the Amber-Chaos one.
Hmmm... Well, perhaps Venus is not so useless after all. She had some useful insight into matters, both on the universe, and problems in myself that I was, perhaps, too close to see. Perhaps we are, in microcosm, the universe we are intended to repair.
Perhaps we did simply get off on the wrong foot. Gain the wrong first impression of one another. And despite the harsh words exchanged between us both, perhaps we can start again. With some urging from Abyss, and entreaties of calm from him. Perhaps we do need to simply trust one another.
Still, I do wonder at her attitude. If she took the task of guarding Bleys voluntarily, then why is she so bitter about it? If she did not, why does she remain with it? And where did she get the idea that any of us wished to do anything against Bleys?
But Venus suggested that some of us, at least, should go back and re-present ourselves - our pasts - to one another and hopefully see what we were meant to see instead of what our prejudices allowed us to see. With the intention of allowing us to move past the disagreements and person conflicts that have so dogged recent discussions.
And so, as part of that, I created a spell to give them all the abridged version of my life. Not an entirely pleasant thing to create, but still, I think, necessary. A strange, unpleasent, cold, empty feeling on displaying to the others. Like, so I imagine, stripping oneself naked in public.
But still, for the record, here it is:
Circaea: My Life, Abridged
Parts in italics are Circaea's thoughts at the time. The other parts are more descriptive sections.
There are some references out to diary entries and stories, to avoid repetition.
Images swirl into the air as my memories begin to be replayed. They can be moved around in, but not interacted with.
There is a girl, thin, perhaps five years old, tall for her age, with short silver-white hair and pale blue eyes. She is dressed in a plain black long-sleeved dress with long sleeves whose hem touches the floor. She is in a cold, Spartan building of a Victorian style, some form of institution by the look of it. Other similarly dressed girls of various ages are there too. Many of them avoid the girl.
Why am I so much stronger, faster and fitter than everyone else? The schoolmistresses seem to be at a loss, other than to make sure I do not abuse the fact. I did not realise how much I physically outmatch everyone else until Iris picked on me again, and I broke her nose by accident, even though she is years older than I am. Now they are all a little scared of me, I think.
The schoolmistresses say that my mother and father ... my parents ... are dead far away, over the sea somewhere. And that is why I live here, in the Orphanarium.
The schoolmistresses say that there are men - men of good breeding - who will marry us ... look after us ... when we are older. When we are grown. I saw some of the older girls going off to marry. I do not want to marry some man. But the schoolmistresses say there is no choice unless I want to starve on the streets like the poor people do.
The girl is in a magical laboratory of some sort.
Magic is the one interesting subject in our lessons. Manners and etiquette, though I learn them, of course, I have no interest in. History and geography seem irrelevant, the latter particularly as it simply tells us of places that we shall never visit or even see. Magic, though, that I love, and enjoy. And, it seems, excel in.
The same girl, but older. Perhaps seven now. Her dress is a little short. She looks out of a high window over a smoky city of stone and brick, the city of Lanchaelis.
Why did mother and father have to die? I hate it here. I wish someone would come and take me away from here. To somewhere nice. I am so lonely. So alone.
One day I shall fly away from all this. Leave the Orphanarium, and Verantium. Become free.
And then the Primer arrived, and everything changed.
The girl is ten or so now. Still tall for her age, and still thin. Now there is a light in her eyes that was not there before, perhaps of rebellion, but it is kept well hidden. She walks the halls of the Orphanarium alone, avoided by her peers.
"While I approve of its contents, I cannot help but notice that you are spending far too much time with your 'Young Ladies Illustrated Primer,' to the detriment of your other studies," said the Headmistress. "For that reason it shall, for the time being, be confiscated."
I looked at her in dismay as she said this, but she was holding out her hand, and I had no choice. I handed her the Primer.
"Thank you, Circaea Acacia," she said. "It shall be held in safe keeping until I deem you ready to have it returned to you. You may go."
And with a heavy heart, I left her office. Now what would I do?
I was delighted when I found the Primer in its old place again the next day. I assumed the Headmistress had arranged for it to be secretly returned to me for reasons best know to herself.
Alas, such was not the case.
"How dare you steal this book from office?" she barked. "Just who do you think you are?"
"Bread and water for a week, and six strokes of the cane," she intoned.
But although they did their best to keep it, and I my best to hide it, the Primer would not be kept separate from me for long...
"This has gone too far, Circaea Acacia," intoned the Headmistress. "If we cannot control the book, then it must be destroyed."
One glance from her stilled my protests unborn.
She carefully placed the Primer in the flames of the fireplace in her office. "Now, go."
Barely able to see for the sense of loss I felt, I stumbled from the room.
At age thirteen the girl is starting to become a woman, taller and still thin. Still alone.
The more desperate their unsuccessful attempts to restrain or destroy the Primer, the more they came to fear it, as something beyond their magical skills to control. Even mages called in from outside the Orphanarium could not solve its mysteries.
And the more severe the punishments I received - as if I were somehow at fault for the misbehaviour of my book - the more determined I became to learn all that I could from it. The stronger my resolve to learn. To use what the Primer was telling me to leave this place - this shadow as soon as I can. As soon as I am ready...
I worry them, I think. I excel in magic, now, too, not merely in physical prowess. I am not sure of it, but I believe I could defeat anyone in the Orphanarium staff, included, by brute force if nothing else.
The fact that I appear to require less sleep than everyone else, and so am able to spend more time studying, also helps me in this...
Fifteen years old, she is definitely a young woman now, her hair long and bound up in a bun, but her clothes still the same plain unadorned black that is all she ever remembers wearing.
I was introduced to my first potential husband today. Williard Smitt-Kerjansen. What a horrible experience. So ... stilted. So cold. And he so ... unpleasant. Distant and yet over-intimate, too. Cold and yet filled with hot blood.
Are all men like this? I certainly hope not. But I have met so few men that I cannot tell.
And I do not want to marry him. Not, I suspect, that I may get my choice in this matter. And if not Mr Smitt-Kerjansen, then it will just be another.
Unless I can flee. Unless I can learn how to create the Trumps which the Primer is trying so hard to teach me to create...
At last! At last, I have created a functioning Trump. How strange it was, to feel the pasteboard grow cold in my hand, see the image of the destination shimmer into reality in the air before me. How exhilarating.
Now I must plan my escape. There is only so long I can put off agreeing to a marriage. And I know so little of life outside the Orphanarium. What should I do?
There is little choice. I must go. Escape to one of these other 'shadows' the Primer has told me of. So I begin to work, and to plan.
And I construct for myself a highly useful device, for defence and for the racking of spells - my bracer.
It has taken a little while, but Trump and Magic have allowed me to amass supplies, and I have, with the aid of the Primer, drawn Trumps of places far from here. In other worlds. Other shadows.
And so, tonight, I leave Verantium for good and all...
I concentrate on the Trump card, of a small idyllic meadow of slightly golden grass by a copse of golden trees, and the card cools as the image shimmers into existence.
And with a last glance back at the Orphanarium, at Verantium, at the city of Lanchaelis, at everything I have ever known, and with my heart in my mouth, I step through the Trump link and out of Verantium forever.
The young woman is no older now, but there is more of a lightness about her now. A freedom, even as she works for a living.
And now I am on my own out here. Out in shadow. I am free. There are wonders here - places, people, foods - the likes of which I have never imagined before. Everything is new, and so much of it is wonderful. Food with real flavour! Who would have imagined it!
But it can be hard, too. There is both excitement and fear here. I have no local money. I often do not speak the local tongue. Strange food can be a problem as much as a blessing. People can behave so differently - shockingly so, in some cases - to how they might under similar circumstances in Verantium. It continually surprises, even if it does not shock.
And my magics do not always function as they should.
The Primer warned me of this, before I left Verantium. But that, too, is hard. I adjust as well as I can, and am learning, but still, it is inconvenient, at the very least.
Though I still seem more powerful than the locals, I am not willing to use that power to steal, to take what I require.
What choice have I, then? I will not sell myself. After nights of eating from waste bins - let that never happen again, but I was so hungry - I had no choice. No choice but to find a job.
I would never have imagined doing such a thing before, before leaving Verantium. But necessity - hunger - is the mother of disparate measures, as well as of invention. So I procured myself a job as a barmaid.
How the mighty have fallen.
But it allows me to eat and live. Until I learn how to ensure that my magics work properly, regardless of shadow, and I overcome my Orphanarium-instilled taboo against using Conjuration to forge money, jobs of this kind allow me to live, and survive.
And eventually, although not without problems, usually avoided by simply fleeing that shadow for another where I am unknown, within a few months I have found my feet and struck out for new and more varied shadows...
With my leaving Verantium, the Primer seems to have less and less to teach. Less and less to say. As if its job were almost done.
In fact, that is essentially what it says. And I cannot persuade it that its task is not complete.
And now the Primer is done. Gone. Totally inactive. Merely that which it seemed to be for so long - a rather tedious book of manners and etiquette.
I miss it. It was my only companion, my only friend, for so very long. It raised me, made what I am today, quite as much as the teachers in the Orphanarium...
I do not really think of it until I see other women wearing them, but perhaps I could wear trousers too.
It takes time to bring myself to do so, though. For so long, the Orphanarium taught that proper ladies did not wear trousers, only skirts, and only fully covering ones at that.
But eventually ... I begin to try on trousers. And it is a revelation! No wonder the men of Verantium kept them to themselves. They give such freedom. To run, to climb, and so on. I shall never forget this. Never go back. And every time I wear them it shall be a tiny act of rebellion against the restrictions imposed upon me in Verantium...
I feel sick. I knew it would happen eventually, but still, the fact that it now has is no less of a shock to the system. So hideous. So final.
I was sick. I could not help myself. I have killed someone.
He was trying to kill me, or do worse, it is true. But still. I panicked. Overreacted. And now he is dead.
A step that cannot be undone. Though how I wish I could...
The woman, now a confident traveller, moves through shadow alone via the power of Trump.
There comes a time when, via the Trumps, I travel to shadows where Magic does not work. I do not know why. It is alarming to discover how vulnerable I am there, without my spells and so on to protect me.
And so I learn how to fight physically, with blades and guns and my bare hands, and other weapons too. It is ... unpleasant ... but, I think, necessary, having learnt that one cannot rely on Magic. Not always. Unfortunately.
Likewise, I learn non-magical healing techniques, non-magical means of survival, travel and so forth.
It is rather odd that even in shadows without Magic, there still exist devices that perform many of the same functions as Magic does elsewhere. They call them 'technology'. They seem to operate using natural principles, but via some purely mechanical process. Very odd. But quite useful. As much so as Magic in their respective shadows. Definitely something of which I should learn more.
I have never seen war before. I hate it. So much wasted life. Wasted effort. Wasted skill and knowledge. Coming into the city to see all the destruction, the ruins, the smoke and fire. The corpses. The stench.
And now I cannot stop thinking about it. About nothing but the war. What a horror it is. How can it be stopped? Surely there is some less wasteful, less horrific, alternative to it.
Now aged in her twenties, the woman is stretched out in a sunlit bed high up in a glorious sunlit bronze and green city somewhere in shadow. She looks very happy.
I am so glad to find that not all men - in some shadows, at least - resemble those of Verantium. Resemble Williard Smitt-Kerjansen. Themistocles is so nice. So sensible. So caring. I have never felt like this before.
Is this love?
So, this is sex. Nice...
I never knew how pleasant it can be to hold - and be held by - someone who cares about one...
In the same room above the bronze and gold city, the woman weeps.
Oh, this hurts so much. Why does Themistocles no longer wish to be with me? Why did he say those things?
I know we argued. But is that enough for him to no longer be with me?
If love can hurt this much, why do people spend so much time pursuing it? What am I missing? Am I missing something?
And this is not the only time. Why do men not wish to spend a long time with me?
I have used the 'Soul Ripper' spell before, of course, though always reluctantly. But it has never had the effect it did then, in shadow Ashkenthula, when I used it to, so I thought, bring a sorcerous duel in which I was outnumbered to a sudden end. Never caused a god to appear before me to object to its use. Anubis, the Judge of the Dead. A jackal-headed humanoid. Apparently the spell infringed upon his area of responsibility in Ashkenthula. Who knew me for who and what I am, and addressed me as such.
I was polite and respectful to him, of course, and he seemed understanding of my ignorance of his rules there. Fortunately. But nonetheless, until I may determine whether using it will infringe upon Anubis' rules in a given location, I shall be using the 'Soul Ripper' spell carefully, if at all...
How I look back on that time with nostalgia, now! Footloose and fancy free through shadow! I knew of Amber and the Family, of course, but had never, at that stage, had any contact with any of them. I knew that I would at some point. Knew that I would go to Amber and walk the Pattern there. But there was plenty of time for that in the future, and for now I was happy to wander, see, and learn...
It was in a shadow named 'Earth' that everything changed, that that time of happy wandering came to an end. A strange, factionalised, high-technology shadow rife with all of the varieties of human glory and shame, to which my travels had brought me.
It was while there, in an institution named the Library of Congress, that I was approached by a blonde woman of quite noteworthy beauty. Quite how she located me I do not know, but she introduced herself as Florimel - Flora. Princess Florimel. Of Amber. And she clearly knew that I, too, was of the Blood.
She was less than thrilled to learn of my parentage. She seemed to become cold, perhaps even frightened, when she learned of it. But seemed to feel an ... obligation ... to continue, regardless.
She invited me to Amber. And what could I do, but accept?
And so, at last, under very different circumstances to those I had imagined, I came to Amber.
To learn of the Patternfall War, and of father's actions as part of it. Of his madness and death. And the fear of so many of the rest of the Family that I might have inherited his madness. That I might attempt to follow in his footsteps. Of my half-brother, Rinaldo.
So. How little things change. I felt as if I were back in the Orphanarium in Verantium. Feared for things beyond my control. Though, of course, I never let them see that.
What a lovely welcome from my long-lost Family. Surely the correct way to prevent a prodigal, potentially mad daughter of the late Prince Brand from following in her father's footsteps!
Only the King and Queen were actually welcoming. For which, at least, I am grateful.
Apparently I had been brought to Amber due to a 'Pattern sickness' running rampant through the Family, which had led to a thorough search for unknown Family members in order that they might be treated for this condition. But as, of course, I had not walked the Pattern, I did not suffer from it.
It was my wish to assay the Pattern. Claim my birthright as soon as possible.
However, it was made clear to me that I would not be allowed to do so without oversight. In case the potentially mad daughter of Prince Brand attempted to do something to match the evil deeds of her father. Phah!
So I simply refused to assay the Pattern under those circumstances. I vowed to myself that I would either walk the Pattern without restrictions, or not at all.
And with that, I departed from Amber for shadow once more, wishing to have no more to do with my so-called Family and their prejudicial attitudes.
I never realised before this point that ones ancestry could be so held against one. Not a mistake I shall make in future.
How unexpected. I have visited Amber, met the Royal Family of Amber at last. And ... I really very much dislike them. Perhaps even hate certain of them.
'Genetically mad' my foot!
At least Amber itself is worth the trip. A most interesting place. So much more Real, more substantial, more textured than anywhere else I have ever visited in shadow. Such a pity that it is spoilt so by its Royal Family.
After my jolly little visit to Amber, I begin to feel that, perhaps, I am not entirely alone in my travels. That I am being followed. Observed.
And this I do not like. Not at all. The sense of constantly looking over ones shoulder is a highly unpleasant one.
So I resolve to find myself a secure base, in which I need not worry about the efforts of my so-called Family, in which I may relax, and my wanderings shift from their footloose path to a more purposeful search.
Eventually, my steps lead me to the staircase up to Ensilarum...
Although no older physically, the woman seems to be older now, perhaps in her eyes and in the certain wariness with which she now meets the world.
The guards at the gateway to Ensilarum were suspicious of my arrival, but I eventually persuaded them to let me in, and give me the means to travel without being immediately sought out by the Guardian Butterflies that abound there. To find a strange limited world of razor-edged vegetation and armoured animals on an infinitely high plateau, under a sun that never sets. But as I spent more time there, learnt more of the people and the society there, Ensilarum came to feel more and more like home. Even the way in which the properties of the shadow prevent Trumps working into or out of the shadow feels ... cosy ... rather than threatening or confining.
And so I petitioned the government, Queen Mehitabel, to be allowed to stay, travelling to the gold and iron capital city of Aurrefal to do so. Petitioning to become a citizen of Ensilarum. My access to funds from out of shadow was certainly of assistance too. Taken together, this all allowed me to take control of the small abandoned Duchy of Justicia, in a far corner of the plateau that makes up the land area of Ensilarum.
And over time, despite the initial distrust of the Ensilarumians, I restored the Duchy to prosperity and a place of respect in Ensilarum.
I was impressed with the level of magic skill displayed in Ensilarum too, in its defences and in day-to-day life, in the armour everyone wears outside to protect themselves from the environment of the place.
The Royal Palace in Aurrefal particularly impressed me. A sentient structure dedicated to those who live within it and use its many facilities, to both their service and their defence. I learnt a great deal from the Palace over the years, and it became one of my closer friends in Aurrefal.
The other nobles of Ensilarum whisper at my apparently un-ageing state, and some try to learn my secrets. Unfortunately for them, there is no secret. It is simply my Amberite blood coming to the fore. It distances me from them, even those who are my friends, as they grow old and I do not, but there is, alas, nothing to be done about it...
It saddened me to hear the news that the Queen of Ensilarum, Mehitabel, was dead. She died peacefully in her bed, of old age.
I was not intending to take part in the competitions to elect the new Monarch when I travelled to Aurrefal to pay my respects. However, upon arrival I saw those who were intending to compete for the Crown - not the finest flower of Ensilarum, by any means - and after consulting with the Royal Palace placed my name on the list of potential monarchs. Not for myself, though it might be easy to interpret my actions as being so, but for the sake of Ensilarum, of the shadow that I had come to love. That it might have someone worthy of it upon its throne.
The competitions were hard, and at times I came close to losing. Some of the other competitors were skilled. Some powerful. Some underhanded. But I met all of the challenges in the end. Met and overcame them.
And it was with more than a little surprise that I found myself seated upon the throne of Ensilarum as the new Queen of the entire shadow. Queen Circaea the First. With fifty million subjects whose welfare I was responsible for. A heavy responsibility. But one I feel I am capable of bearing...
Now she is a Queen, ruling her shadow in her robes of state. Again, although she appears physically the same, there is something older about her eyes,
Being Queen of a shadow is not entirely what I expected, alas. The responsibility is not unexpected, and that I can cope with. It is the dull round of day-to-day paperwork, even with the assistance of secretaries and the Palace, which is difficult.
But still, somehow, I cope, because I must. And I continue with the research that my spare time allows me. I am only grateful for my Advisory Council, as without them I should doubtless be entirely swamped...
The Royal Palace of Ensilarum really is a wondrous magical construct. Certainly one of the finest I have ever seen. And also one of the finest people I have ever met. It - she - also knows a phenomenal amount, on so many useful topics.
She inspires me. Could I create something like her? Only, perhaps, better? Using what I know of the Trumps and of shadow as well as of magic? I think perhaps I could...
And so, Cerebaton was conceived, the child of my mind. Of course, over time, he because much more than just a magical device, however complex...
Then more recent events come thick and fast.
The letter from King Random of Amber.
Master Tarn. Learning of mother and her fate.
Coming to Amber again, and dinner.
Darkwalkers, Dragosians and so on. Learning more of the universe. New Powers.
And now here we are...