The Chronicles of Amber

Chapter 8

I found myself in a cluttered, windowless, musty-smelling workroom. Long wooden tables lined every wall; they held a confusing jumble of papers, scrolls, wooden boxes, oddly shaped rocks, countless crystals of varying sizes, and many other less readily identified materials. Dusty racks on the walls contained neatly labeled jars; doubtless they contained ingredients for potions and spells, I decided. At one table, he had been wiring a skeleton together from sun-bleached bones. It had at least four arms… and possibly as many as eight. At another table, candles warmed strangely shaped bottles containing liquids of various hues, some of which gave off curiously spiced scents. Ahead and to the left, narrow doorways led to additional workrooms, these just as cluttered from what little I could see.

“Come on, come on,” he said impatiently, turning and leading the way. “I have wasted enough time on your rescue already—we have work to do, and it is best to get on with it.”

“All right,” I said, falling back into the patterns of my youth. All the time an inner voice told me to stand up to him right here, right now… to demand answers to everything that had happened.

But I couldn’t. Not yet. He was still Uncle Dworkin to me, still the mentor I admired and respected… and obeyed. All the years of leading men, all the years without his presence, seemed to have melted away. I could have been ten years old again, following his instructions without question.

We passed into the next room, which was filled with unshelved books and scrolls, more than I had ever seen in any one place before. There had to be thousands of them.

He didn’t stop but led me into yet another room, which held larger machines he had obviously been building. Odd bits and pieces lay half-assembled (or half-disassembled, I couldn’t tell which) on the floor and the worktables. Some had pipes and wires leading from large stones to what looked like corroding copper spheres, the largest of which had to be at least four feet across, the smallest no more than a hand’s width. Others looked like fairy tale castles built from spun glass, and pink and white and yellow lights flared or pulsated briefly within them. Across from us, in a giant fireplace that took up the entire wall, liquids bubbled in three large cauldrons, though no fire heated them that I could see. These potions or brews let off a curious combination of smells—something like the air after a thunderstorm had just passed, but slightly sour. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck start to bristle. Against my will, I shivered.

Dworkin—Dad—noticed and chuckled.

“What are you doing in here?” I asked.

“Distilling.”

“Brandy?” I guessed, but knowing it couldn’t be anything so simple.

“Life forces.”

“Oh.” I didn’t quite know what to make of that.

He pulled over two straight-backed wooden chairs, and we sat facing each other, though he did not look me in the eye. Could he be feeling… guilt? For never letting me know I had a father, a family? For hiding my birthright? For abandoning me these many years?

A long, awkward silence stretched between us, punctuated by faint dripping noises from one of the machines and a steady hiss from one of the cauldrons.

“Dworkin—” I finally said. “Or should I call you Dad, like Aber and the others?”

He shifted uneasily. “Either one is fine. Perhaps Dworkin is best… I have never been much of a father to you. Though ‘Dad’ does have a nice ring to it…”

“So be it—Dad.”

“What else have you found out since you arrived?” he asked softly.

“Not as much as I would have liked.” I swallowed, my mouth dry, and for the first time in my life I suddenly found words difficult. I had a lump in my throat the size of an apple; it was hard to speak to him calmly with all I now knew. “Apparently you have enemies in the Courts of Chaos, at least one of whom is trying to destroy your bloodline. Unfortunately, I seem to be included.”

He nodded. “Two attempts have been made on my own life in the last year. And seven of my children—two daughters and five sons—are now missing, I assume murdered.” He shook his head. “I do not know who to blame, but I have been gathering the rest of you from all your scattered Shadows, bringing you here, protecting you while I investigate… and preparing to defend Juniper if we are attacked.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded, rising and pacing the floor. I simply couldn’t sit still any longer. “I had a right to know you were my father!”

“Your mother wanted it this way,” Dworkin said softly, “to protect you. She knew you would never rest easily if you discovered your true nature. You would want to meet the rest of your family, pass through the Logrus and master Shadows—”

“Damn right!”

“I became a friend of the family,” he said, “so that I could be near you, guide you, watch you grow.”

“You made sure I learned what I needed to learn,” I said, guessing the truth. “You prepared me for a life in the military. And apparently you have been secretly watching and perhaps even guiding my career all these years.”

“It is what any dutiful father would have done.”

“No.” I glared at him. “A dutiful father would have told me the truth!”

“And ignored your mother’s wishes?”

“She was dead, I wasn’t. You abandoned me! Your own flesh and blood!”

“I promised her. I do not give my word lightly, Oberon… I loved her too much for that.”

“Loved her?” My voice raised to a shout. “When you sired how many more sons on other Shadows? How many wives do you have, anyway? Ten? Twenty? No wonder you never had time for me!”

He recoiled as though struck across the face. I’d hurt him more with those words than I could have with any physical blows, I realized. Perhaps I’d meant to do it—I certainly didn’t feel sorry for him now.

“You don’t understand the way of Shadows,” he said. “And I’m older than you realize. Time moves differently on each world—”

I turned away. I didn’t want him to see the tears welling up in my eyes. Soldiers don’t cry. It was all happening too fast. I needed time to think, to sort through the strange unfolding secrets and half-truths that made up my life.

Dworkin—Dad—my father—came up behind me. He put a hand on my shoulder.

“I’m here now,” he said softly. “I cannot change the past, but I can apologize for it. Perhaps I should have told you sooner. Perhaps I should never have made that promise to your mother. But what is done cannot be undone. Make the most of it. You have your heritage now. You have… a family. Embrace us all.”

I faced him. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“You must have questions. Ask them.”

I hesitated, trying to decide where to start. “Tell me about the—what did you call it? The Logrus?” I said, trying to remember his words. “Tell me about Shadows and how to move among them like you and the others do. I want to learn how.”

“It’s… difficult to explain.” He frowned. “Think of a single world, a place at the center of the universe… a primal source of life and power and wisdom.”

“The Courts of Chaos?”

“The Courts are built upon it there, yes. They are a part, but not the whole. Now, imagine time and the universe as a lake so huge you cannot see the shore when you are in the middle. The Courts of Chaos float at the center of this lake, casting reflections into the water. And every reflection is a world unto itself, a shadow of the Courts.”

“All right,” I said, not sure what he was leading up to. “How many of these reflections are there?”

“Nobody knows. Millions. Billions. Perhaps more than can ever be counted. Each is separate and distinct—a world of its own, with its own languages, peoples, customs. The farther you get from the Courts, the more different