tossed the treetops, which grew taller still, a gray sort of wintery daylight broke over us. The land glistened with frost. My breath misted in the air.
Snorting and stomping, our horses plodded on. I found myself staring uneasily at the trees to either side. I had a strange feeling of being observed.
“Do you sense anything unusual here?” I asked.
Dworkin glanced back at me. “No. This world is a bridge between traps. There should be nothing here to bother us.”
I hesitated, trying to put words to my uneasiness.
“The horses need rest,” I said.
“Then we will replace them,” he said.
Shortly, we came to a large grassy clearing, where two black horses identical to the geldings upon which we rode stood waiting. They even had saddles and bedrolls identical to ours.
I raised my eyebrows. “Just like that?” I said.
“Yes.” Dworkin swung down from the saddle, changed to the next horse, and kept going. “Their owners are off hunting smirp in the grasslands and won't be back for a few hours.”
“Smirp?” I asked.
“Same as rabbits.”
I followed his example, then caught up with him.
“That was a neat trick,” I said. “Whose horses were those?”
“Does it matter?” he asked.
I thought about it. “I guess not,” I said. “They have the same horses they used to have—only theirs are tired.”
“No.” He made a dismissive gesture. “They are Shadows, not real. They spring full-grown from our minds. We create them with our thoughts; they are mere potentialities in an infinite universe until something real— something like us—gives them shape and substance.”
“You sound like you've thought about this a great deal.”
“Yes,” he said, “I have.”
And then the world changed around us again. The sky darkened as we climbed into foothills, and thunder rolled and cracked. Flashes of lightning lit up the sky directly ahead, and a stiff wind grew stronger. Looking up, I could see thick gray clouds gathering. A few drops of rain stung my face.
“Is this your doing, Dad?” I called.
“Yes!” he shouted then pointed ahead. “There's a cave! Get inside before the storm hits!”
We made our way up to the opening, perhaps fifteen feet high and ten feet wide, and rode inside. I saw marks on the walls from tools; it had been widened by men—or other creatures—at some point in its history. Behind us, the heavens opened up, letting go a torrent of rain like nothing I had ever seen before. Water fell in waves so thick, at times you couldn't see more than a few feet away. Grass, bushes, and trees alike came crashing down from the force.
Without looking back, Dad rode forward into the darkness. A few torches, sputtering faintly, appeared to light our passage. I followed close behind.
Slowly, it grew light ahead, and then we rounded a corner and came into sight of another opening—this one leading out into a cheerful field filled with grass and clover. As we rode out into it, I heard another rumble as the mountain collapsed on top of the cave and tunnels we had just traversed.
Once outside, he reined in his horse; it had grown tired at this passage through so many worlds, as had mine. There was much to do to control them.
“Why don't we call it a night?” I suggested.
At first I thought Dworkin would refuse, but he sighed heavily, then gave a nod of assent. “There's a nice camping spot ahead,” he said. “A clearing with a stream and plenty of wood for a fire. Lots of slow, stupid game, too.”
“Sounds perfect,” I asked.
“We can wait there,” he said, “as long as it takes.”
An interesting turn of phrase that said little but implied much-all of it different, depending on how you looked at the question.
“Are you expecting company?” I asked.
“I always expect someone,” he said, “and I am seldom disappointed.”
The trees around us grew taller, darker; pines replaced oaks. Then the path opened up, and ahead I saw the place he meant—a hundred yards of low-cropped grass, then a gentle incline that ended at a wall of stone, a steep cliff rising fifty feet or more above us. Pine trees overhung the top.
He reined in his horse. “Make camp here,” he said.
“How long will we be here?” I asked.
“As long as it takes. I… am waiting for a guide.”
“A guide? You mean you don't know where we're going?” I asked.
“I know. I am having a little difficulty finding it again, however.”
“Tell me. Maybe I can help.”
“You have been a help already, my boy. More than you realize. But this is not something you can do.” He sighed. “I must do the last of it myself.”
“Maybe, if you'd explain…”
He hesitated, as if not knowing how much he could safely reveal.
I said, “You're going to have to tell me, Dad. I know a lot of it already. Maybe I can help. Remember Juniper…”
He sighed, looked away for a long moment, took a deep breath.
“I have lived a long time, Oberon. I have done a lot of things of which I am not proud, and many of which I am.” He swallowed. “You… you will be the first person besides myself to see the heart of the Shadows. The place where they begin.”
“I don't understand,” I said.
“All this—” His hand swept out, taking in the world around us. “All this is a Shadow. But what casts that Shadow?”
“It's not the Courts of Chaos, is it?”
“No!” He laughed. “The Courts cast their own shadows, true, but they are dim and dismal places, full of death and unpleasantness.
These Shadows—Juniper, Ilerium, all of them—are cast by something else… something greater.”
I felt my heart beating in my throat.
“You did it,” I said wonderingly. “It's the Pattern.”
“That which casts these Shadows is a great Pattern, like the one inside you, but inscribed with my own hand at the very heart of the universe.”
“That's why they're after you,” I said, wonderingly. “King Uthor
“Yes! It weakens
“How—where—” I stammered.
“It is close. But hidden… very carefully hidden, where no Lord of Chaos can ever hope to find it on his own.”
“Then you hid it too well, if you can't find it either.”
“I had… help.”
My eyes narrowed. “Help? So they're right and you have allied yourself with another power. Who is it?”
“Not exactly a
“A woman? Will she join us here?”
“I hope so.” He swung down from his saddle, stretching. “We must wait until she comes.”
A woman…
