The Chronicles of Amber

presence. Up close, I realized for the first time how big he was… he towered over me by at least a foot. And he was completely hairless. Smooth white skin like parchment stretched tight over sinewy flesh. He had not a scrap of fat anywhere on his body, which gave him a curiously skeletal appearance.

Everything about him struck me as wrong, somehow. There was no reason for it, but I took an instant dislike to him.

“Are Oberon?” he said.

“Yes. Who are you?” I demanded.

“True name meaning. You may call Ish.” He smiled, showing long, pointed white teeth. It could have been an expression of friendliness or even reassurance, but I found it unnerving.

“Ish,” I said. I swallowed hard. “What are you doing here?”

“That which emerged calls now.”

“The Pattern?”

“I not born Chaos, if you fear,” he said. Then he calmly stepped around me and continued walking his circuit of the Pattern, taking long hopping steps.

Not born Chaos? What did that mean? Could he be a creature of the Pattern, like me?

“You shouldn't be here,” I said, giving chase. “My father—Dworkin—sent me. I think he wants you to leave.”

“New. In place.” He turned and bowed from the waist. “Apologies. Dworkin work time. This better.”

He paused expectantly as I tried to puzzle through his jumble of words. Could he mean he liked this Pattern better than the last one? Had he seen them both?

“You saw the other Pattern?” I asked. “The first one my father drew?”

“Many.” His head bobbed twice. “Gift. Son-of-Dworkin?”

He held something small toward me. Without thinking, I stuck out my hand, and he dropped a small, cold, hard object onto my palm.

It was a man's ring. Gold, with what looked like a small ruby set into the top, it caught the light and glinted faintly.

“Uh… thanks,” I said. I held it up, examining it.

“Spikard,” he said firmly. “Old.”

“Gold?”

“Old,” he repeated. “A power. Yours. Spikard.”

He motioned for me to put it on. After a second's hesitation, I slipped it onto the index finger of my right hand.

At first it seemed much too loose, but then it suddenly tightened. Panicked, I tried to yank it off—but it clung to me like a leech.

“What have you done to me?” I cried.

“Spikard,” he repeated. “Good.”

The ring grew warm. The warmth spread up my arm… but instead of burning, it left me with a sense of great well-being. Full and warm and safe… life was good… the spikard would protect me. I knew.

Shivering, I took a step back. This spikard alarmed and frightened me. I was not well and safe. I had a strange ring on my finger trying to put reassuring thoughts in my head!

“Stop it!” I cried.

The ring pulsed once, and my unnatural sense of well-being left. I was myself again, or so I hoped.

Ish tilted his head, then pointed at the Pattern. “Walk?”

“What is this thing?”

“Spikard. Good.”

It pulsed once as if in reply.

I glanced down at it. “Can you understand me?”

It pulsed again.

“Are you a friend?”

It pulsed four times… an emphatic yes, I assumed.

“Should I walk the Pattern?”

Another pulse.

All right… an intelligent ring. This might lead somewhere interesting.

“I want you off my finger. Now.”

The ring pulsed, then grew loose. I slipped it off, then fought my sudden impulse to heave it as far away from me as I could. Instead, I slipped it into the pouch at my belt, the one with my collection of Trumps. This spikard might prove valuable or useful once I understood it better. I'd ask Dad and Freda about it.

Ish pointed at the Pattern again. “Walk?”

“I already walked it twice.”

“Dworkin walk,” he insisted. “Oberon walk.”

I stared. “My father walked it?”

“Walk.”

“Not this time. I don't know who you are or what you're doing here, but I'm not taking any orders from you.” I pointed the sword at him. “Leave. Now.”

He tilted his head to the side, clearly confused. Then his body flattened and folded into itself almost like a piece of paper. In a second, he had vanished.

I let out the breath I had been holding. I had never seen anything like that before… and I was pretty sure he hadn't used the Logrus or the Pattern.

Stepping forward, I swung my sword through the place he had been standing just to make sure he hadn't turned invisible. He really had gone. Hopefully he wouldn't find his way back again. We couldn't have strangers poking around the Pattern… even unarmed, hairless white giants.

Sheathing my sword, I took a deep breath. What now?

The Pattern shimmered.

The sky overhead almost glowed, the deepest, most perfect azure I had ever seen.

I pulled out Dad's Trump and tried it again, but got no response. Then I tried Freda. She answered immediately, and her image was as clear and sharp as if she stood next to me.

Quickly I told her what had happened.

“Do not touch the spikard again,” she told me. “It is dangerous.” How?

“It is tied to the Keye—”

“The what?”

“The Keye…” She hesitated. “It is ancient, like the Logrus, and very powerful. There is no time to explain. Father must not ask the Feynim for help or protectio—”

“Whoa! The Feynim? Who are they?”

She knotted her hands. “They are ancients. Older than Chaos. You must stop him! He must not deal with them—it is forbidden!”

“I'll try to find him. Do you have any idea where he is?”

“He may be with them… beyond the edge of Chaos.” She looked me in the eye. “Walk the Pattern, Oberon. It has great powers. Use it to find him. Hurry!”

Chapter 19

By the time I reached the center of the Pattern, I felt drained physically and mentally. It seemed no easier on this, my third try. But I knew it could be done, and I pushed through the pain and all the barriers, and finally I emerged, gasping and soaked with sweat.

I staggered forward. Without a second's hesitation, I visualized my father. “I want to join Dworkin,” I said