anyway.”
The trees were definitely trees now, the fog-real fog-moving about a bit. Beads of moisture began to form on the windshield.
“What do you mean?” Luke asked.
“In a minute.”
There were breaks in the fog now, real landscape visible through them.
Abruptly, I became aware that it was not a real road surface on which I was driving, but rather a fairly level piece of ground. I slowed even more to accommodate this.
A big section of haze dissolved or blew away then revealing the presence of an enormous tree. Also, a sec- lion of the ground seemed to be glowing. There was a familiar feeling to this partial tableau...
“This is the place of your Pattern, isn’t it?” I asked, as our way grew even clearer. “Fiona brought me here once.”
“Yes;” came the reply.
“And its image-that’s the thing I saw confronting the Sign of the Logrus back in the graveyard-the same thing that led us into the tunnel.”
“Yes.”
“Then- it’s sentient, too. Like Amber’s, like the Logrus-”
“True. Park it over there, in that clear area by the tree. I turned the wheel and headed toward the level spot he had indicated.
Fog still hung about the place, but nowhere near as heavy and all-encompassing as on the trail we had taken. It might have been twilight, from the shading of the mist, but the glow from that eccentric Pattern brightened our cup-shaped world beyond a day’s end dimness.
As we climbed out Corwin said to Luke, ‘ ‘Pattern ghosts tend not to last long.”
“So I understand,” Luke replied. “You know any tricks for someone in this position?”
“I know them all, sir. It takes one to know, as they say.”
“Oh?”
“Dad ...?” I said. “You mean ...”
“Yes,” he replied. “I do not know where the first version of myself might be.”
“You are the one I encountered a while back? The one who might have been present in Amber recently, also?”
“Yes.”
“I see. Yet, you don’t seem exactly like others I’ve encountered.”
He reached out and clasped my shoulder.
“I’m not,” he said, and he glanced toward the Pattern. “I drew that thing,” he went on, a little later, “and I’m the only person ever to have walked it. Consequently, I’m the only ghost it can summon. Also, it seems to regard me with something other than utilitarian attention. We can communicate, in a way, and it seems to have been willing to devote the energy needed to keep me stable-for a long while now. We have our own plans, and our relationship seems almost symbiotic. I gather that those of Amber’s Pattern and those of the Logrus are more in the nature of ephemera.”
“That’s been my experience,” I said.
“-except for one, to whom you ministered, for which I am grateful. She is under my protection now, for so long as it shall last.”
He released my shoulder.
“I haven’t been properly introduced to your friend yet,” he said then.
“Excuse me. A bit of extenuation there,” I said. “Luke, I’d like you to meet my father, Corwin of Amber. Sir, Luke is properly known as Rinaldo, son of your brother Brand.”
Corwin’s eyes widened for an instant, then narrowed as he extended his hand, studying Luke’s face.
“Good to meet a friend of my son’s, as well as a relative,” he said.
“Glad to know you, too, sir.”
“I’d wondered what it was that seemed so familiar about you.”
“It kind of slows down with appearances, if that’s what you’re getting at. Maybe even stops there.”
Dad laughed.
“Where’d you two meet?”
“In school,” Luke replied. “Berkeley.”
“Where else might a pair of us come together? Not in Amber, of course,” he said, turning away then to face his Pattern fully. “I’ll get your story yet. But come with me now. I want to do an introduction myself.”
He headed off toward the shining design and we fol lowed him, a few wisps of fog
The trees were definitely trees now, the fog-real fog-moving about a bit. Beads of moisture began to form on the windshield.
“What do you mean?” Luke asked.
“In a minute.”
There were breaks in the fog now, real landscape visible through them.
Abruptly, I became aware that it was not a real road surface on which I was driving, but rather a fairly level piece of ground. I slowed even more to accommodate this.
A big section of haze dissolved or blew away then revealing the presence of an enormous tree. Also, a sec- lion of the ground seemed to be glowing. There was a familiar feeling to this partial tableau...
“This is the place of your Pattern, isn’t it?” I asked, as our way grew even clearer. “Fiona brought me here once.”
“Yes;” came the reply.
“And its image-that’s the thing I saw confronting the Sign of the Logrus back in the graveyard-the same thing that led us into the tunnel.”
“Yes.”
“Then- it’s sentient, too. Like Amber’s, like the Logrus-”
“True. Park it over there, in that clear area by the tree. I turned the wheel and headed toward the level spot he had indicated.
Fog still hung about the place, but nowhere near as heavy and all-encompassing as on the trail we had taken. It might have been twilight, from the shading of the mist, but the glow from that eccentric Pattern brightened our cup-shaped world beyond a day’s end dimness.
As we climbed out Corwin said to Luke, ‘ ‘Pattern ghosts tend not to last long.”
“So I understand,” Luke replied. “You know any tricks for someone in this position?”
“I know them all, sir. It takes one to know, as they say.”
“Oh?”
“Dad ...?” I said. “You mean ...”
“Yes,” he replied. “I do not know where the first version of myself might be.”
“You are the one I encountered a while back? The one who might have been present in Amber recently, also?”
“Yes.”
“I see. Yet, you don’t seem exactly like others I’ve encountered.”
He reached out and clasped my shoulder.
“I’m not,” he said, and he glanced toward the Pattern. “I drew that thing,” he went on, a little later, “and I’m the only person ever to have walked it. Consequently, I’m the only ghost it can summon. Also, it seems to regard me with something other than utilitarian attention. We can communicate, in a way, and it seems to have been willing to devote the energy needed to keep me stable-for a long while now. We have our own plans, and our relationship seems almost symbiotic. I gather that those of Amber’s Pattern and those of the Logrus are more in the nature of ephemera.”
“That’s been my experience,” I said.
“-except for one, to whom you ministered, for which I am grateful. She is under my protection now, for so long as it shall last.”
He released my shoulder.
“I haven’t been properly introduced to your friend yet,” he said then.
“Excuse me. A bit of extenuation there,” I said. “Luke, I’d like you to meet my father, Corwin of Amber. Sir, Luke is properly known as Rinaldo, son of your brother Brand.”
Corwin’s eyes widened for an instant, then narrowed as he extended his hand, studying Luke’s face.
“Good to meet a friend of my son’s, as well as a relative,” he said.
“Glad to know you, too, sir.”
“I’d wondered what it was that seemed so familiar about you.”
“It kind of slows down with appearances, if that’s what you’re getting at. Maybe even stops there.”
Dad laughed.
“Where’d you two meet?”
“In school,” Luke replied. “Berkeley.”
“Where else might a pair of us come together? Not in Amber, of course,” he said, turning away then to face his Pattern fully. “I’ll get your story yet. But come with me now. I want to do an introduction myself.”
He headed off toward the shining design and we fol lowed him, a few wisps of fog
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