The Chronicles of Amber

Lowering my head, I walked through the drawing on the wall. Aber vanished behind me. Down and up flip-flopped several times. Strange colors and smells hit my senses in pulsating waves—reds that smelled of cheese, yellows that stank of wet skunk, browns and grays like rotting horseflesh. Gagging, I tried not to retch.

Voices reached me, but oddly garbled. Suddenly Dad's face pressed close to mine. I looked up into his brown eyes and gasped. His pupils flickered with reds and yellows, as though fires burned behind his face. His skin might have been the paper of some paper lantern.

He said something, but I couldn't quite make out the words. He might just as well have been speaking some barbarian tongue. Since he seemed to expect an answer, I gave a curt nod and forced myself upright. I couldn't hold up Freda's rescue.

That seemed to satisfy him. Turning, he headed for the door.

Taking a shuddering breath, I glanced around the room. Light came from a dim ball hovering in the corner, just below the ceiling. Much like Dad's workshop in Juniper, this appeared to be a private retreat for study and magical research. If we'd had more time, I would have liked to go through it carefully. There was no telling what useful notes or devices we might find in here.

Suddenly the room tilted to the left. I staggered into the table and caught myself against it. Everything swam drunkenly, and gravity flip-flopped several times.

Blaise gripped my shoulder. Gulping frantically, I looked into her face.

I couldn't make out the words, but I read her lips: “Are you all right?”

“Dizzy…” I muttered.

Something in my ears made a little popping sound, and the next time she spoke, I actually heard words:

“Want me to slap you?”

“Hah!” I said. Maybe my “Chaos legs,” as Aber had called them, were returning. “Just try it.”

“If you think it will help…”

I released the table. “Only if I get to break your arm!”

“He's all right,” she said to Dad.

“Are you sure?” Dad asked, hesitating. “He looks sick.”

“I'm fine,” I growled. I had no intention of sitting out Freda's rescue.

“Don't worry,” Blaise said, patting my cheek. “If you can't keep up, I'll carry you.” She glanced at our father. “Can you locate Freda? I sense her presence, but not clearly. Is she close?”

“Yes,” Dad said. “This way, I think.” Pushing open the door, he hurried out into a hallway.

Blaise motioned me forward, so I went next. She brought up the rear.

Dimly glowing balls of light hovered overhead at regular internals. Light puddled on the ceiling above them, casting a dim yellow glow across the stone floors and wood-paneled walls.

Dad headed right, and I followed two paces behind. He seemed to have a clear idea where he was going. We passed doors with faces, each exactly the same as the last. They had all been carved from slabs of ebon- colored wood, with an identical face in each one's exact center: horned forehead, deep-set eyes, broad nose and cheekbones, cleft chin. Each face had its eyes closed, as though sleeping.

If these doors acted anything like the ones in Dad's house in the Beyond, they might wake up at any moment, spot us, and raise an alarm. I made certain not to touch any of them.

I was about to suggest we return to Thellops's workshop and search for keys to the doors when the floor began trying to slide out from under my feet. Stumbling, I had to lean against the wall every few paces to keep my balance.

Blaise caught up and grabbed my arm to steady me. “Do you need to go back?” she asked in a hushed voice, her tone no longer kidding.

“I'll make it,” I said.

She hesitated. “If it comes to fighting,” she said, “stay behind me. I'll protect you as much as I can.”

“Thanks, but I fight my own battles!”

“A lot of good it does us if you end up dead!”

I shook my head stubbornly. “Then we'll just have to be careful. I'm not hiding behind you, Blaise. Don't ask me to.”

She frowned, but didn't press the point. Which was fine with me, since I had no intention of giving in. Besides, I had a feeling I'd be back to normal soon… my Chaos-legs were definitely returning.

Dad navigated a twisting course through hallway after hallway. The passages seemed to curve back on themselves like serpents devouring their own tails. Hadn't we come in a full circle? Were we back where we had started? I couldn't tell. Still we passed door after identical door—the count must have run into the dozens by now. Several times I had the impression of descending on a slight incline, though the floor always appeared level. More tricks of Chaos…

Dad stopped in front of a door like so many others we had passed. It had no markings or numbers to identify it.

“Prepare yourselves,” he said. “This is the one.”

“I'm ready.” Swallowing hard, I tightened my grip on my sword. Nothing to do now but storm in, letting heads fall where they may.

“Wait, Dad,” Blaise said. “Are you sure?”

“I know Freda's voice,” he said, eyes distant. “She is calling from inside. I am certain of it.”

“I don't hear anything,” I said.

Dad made a dismissive gesture. “You are deaf to the Logrus, my boy. Her spirit is crying out in agony. You are not attuned to it, so you cannot hear it. Blaise and I can.”

I glanced at Blaise, who nodded. “Yes. I hear her, too.” Then, to our father, she added: “I know Freda is in pain. I feel it. But I'm not certain she's inside this room.”

“I am.”

“If you make a mistake…”

He nodded. “I know. But the only way to find out—is so!”

Before Blaise or I could stop him, Dad rapped sharply on the carved wooden face on the door, right in the center of its forehead.

The face twitched. Its eyelids flew open, and it glared at us with blood-red eyes.

“How dare you touch me!” it snarled.

I gulped. If this guardian was anything like the doors in Dad's home in the Beyond, it would take the magical equivalent of a battering ram to get through now that Dad had pissed it off.

“I am your master,” Dad said.

It blinked. “You are not Lord Thellops!”

“No,” Dad agreed.

“Who are you,” it said in haughty tones, “and what do you want? Speak fast, or I shall summon guards and have you executed for this outrage!”

Dad said, “You know who I am.”

“You…” The face stared blankly at him. “Are you the one? The maker?”

“Your name!” Dad commanded. “Obey me!”

“I am Oberon,” said the face.

I gaped. “Did you say Oberon?” Maybe I hadn't heard correctly. Chaos might still be playing tricks on my senses.

“Yes,” said the door, looking at me, “I did say Oberon. What of it?”

“Uh… I wasn't sure I heard you correctly.” I shot a puzzled glance at Dad. “That's my name, too. Funny coincidence.”

“You are Oberon?” Dad said to the door, ignoring me. “Yes, I thought so. Do you remember me?”

“I think… I think I know you,” it said, staring at his face.

I stared at Dad unbelievingly. How was he doing it? Hypnotism?

Calmly, Dad nodded. “I am Lord Dworkin. I made you for Thellops many years ago. I carved you with these