I am the only child of a Lady of the Noble House of Corini in Rebma, who died in childbirth, giving her life for mine; Morgen daughter of Caradoc son of Finola, who was sister to Morfydd mother of Vialle, making me cousin to that great lady who married Random of Amber. I call her a Great Lady because she is, in all ways that count, regardless of what others may say regarding her relatively low statues at court, and the fact that in addition to that her blindness all but crippled her. To most of them, the courtiers of the Rebman Court, she was a nonentity, only kept around the court because she was favored by the Queen - but to me she was one of the most important people in my world, second only to my nurse Nereid.
I often was amused to see her toadied up to, after her marriage to Random of Amber. Of course she was too much a Lady in the truest sense to ever throw it back in their faces, but I wonder if maybe deep down inside she didn’t enjoy their discomfiture. I suppose with Random imprisoned for life and she relegated to Rebma, they are likely to never see each other again, but even so her status at the Rebman Court is higher than once it was.
It has always been believed that my father was one of the Royal Princes of Amber, but no one seems to be sure exactly which one it was. My mother apparently refused to say, according to Vialle because of a promise made to my father when first they found she was pregnant with me. But I wonder sometimes if she said that to make me feel better, for it has been whispered outside of my hearing – though not out of my ken – that there were multiple possibilities, and that she herself was unsure as to the actual father. Though I never knew her, I am pleased to know that most understand I do still possess sufficient filial loyalty that I would take extreme exception to having my mother referred to as a whore – much less an indiscriminate one.
The Lady Llewella took me under her wing when I was about four or five years old and raised me, suspecting I was of the blood, though she never said definitively whether or not I was. When I was young, people (mostly other children) were constantly teasing me to prove my supposed Amberite heritage, not to mention hinting that my mother had loose morals – children of course have no qualms about doing things adults would balk at… I am sure at least some of this stemmed from what they considered the unwarranted favoritism I was enjoying from the sister of the Queen.
This resulted in two things. First, I determined to have my revenge against those whose mouths had been foremost in slandering my parentage; Second, I took it into my mind to 'prove' myself to everyone by walking the Rebman Pattern, though I was still far too young, being only eleven or twelve years of age at the time.
Well, my plans for revenge at least went as intended, for I had been an observer of goings-on at the court for some time, even been – as a page – the carrier of letters and notes from one conspirator to another, so I was well schooled in the ways of intrigue. Each of those who had chosen to lay their tongue in slander against me got their own paid back, with interest. I managed to make it clear to each of them who the agent of their miseries was, though it could never be proved; such that none of that crop at least ever made the same mistake again.
This dealt with, I turned my attentions to the next item on my agenda, but alas, my attempt at walking the Pattern beneath Rebma Castle did not go as well, not by a long stretch…
At first all seemed in order, as I made it down the long stair and along the correct corridor to where the doors stood, with no guard in sight, unlocked, though a key hung outside. To this day that still bothers me, for it hints at something other than is logical – which is always worrisome. It is the illogical that will ever get you into trouble, for you can never prepare yourself accurately for something you don’t comprehend. I entered, finding the chamber dark save for the fitful gleam of the sigil on the floor.
For long I stood there, indecisive, yet determined, unsure, but knowing I could never leave without knowing, for myself and for the others. I ‘needed’ this affirmation of my status, this badge to bear in front of me, to silence all the whispers, stop all the thoughts, satisfy the vultures that surrounded me always looking for a weakness. Eventually I had steeled myself to do the deed and set my first foot on the lighted pathway. As I did, sparks shot up in response – and I felt an incredible drag upon my foot. Nevertheless, I was stubborn and set my second foot on the Pattern as well. As suspected, my first foot was almost welded to the floor. It was so bad I could not imagine being able to pick it up and set it down again, but somehow I managed it.
I had questioned and researched and gathered that it was an arduous undertaking, but this was ridiculous. Barely three steps in, and I felt faint, my head was spinning, and it seemed I had just swum across the entire province of Ys and back again. There was no way I was going to survive this. Then I felt something in the currents of the water about me, even as I struggled to lift up my second foot from the floor to place it back down again, and looked up to see darkness above me. It was much worse than I thought. There was a whirlpool of shadow, growing by the second, forming above my head, moving with me, and closer to me. By the time I took my fifth step – If I could manage it, I’d be engulfed from above.
This was when I felt someone’s hand upon my arm, and looked back to see Llewella through the sheet of fiery sparks shooting up about me – she was not pleased. Somehow she must have sensed what I was doing even as I began, gotten down here, and stepped out onto the Pattern after me. I saw the trump card in her hand even as she raised it up and pulled on my arm – yanking me off of the floor and through the contact, just as the whirlpool of dark and shadowed waters came down where I had been standing…. And we were in her chambers in the Castle. I collapsed, insensible.
I was bed-ridden for weeks, never waking and never sleeping, my fitful rest wracked with feverish nightmares of blood and water, Dark whirlpools and fiery patterns… When I finally became lucid once more, I promised myself I was never going near the magical sigil again. Though I have since walked it’s sister Pattern in Tir na N’ogth, I still find that I much prefer the power of my magic and my mind – something that comes from me, and is controlled by me. In any event, from Llewella I afterwards gathered – though it was not ever said in so many words – that she was very disappointed in me for trying, and (I felt at the time), perhaps even more so for failing, to assay the Pattern.
Somehow, though I never told anyone, nor I trust did Llewella, word got out of my attempt and my failure. Many in Rebma and in Amber believe to this day that I cannot walk it, while others will say that I choose not to. Today, if the subject should come up I make sure to remain enigmatic, preferring not to give away anything, but as a child I was defensive about the matter, and was driven to find some other way that I could prove myself. As a result, I dove ever more deeply into the study of Blood Sorcery, in which I thankfully found a focus for my life and a means of power that others would respect – even fear – regardless of my parentage. One way or another, it always seems to come down to power in the end.