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To Rebma

After a moment, the great abalone-inlaid door swung open, revealing Bess and her crooked smile.

"Mum and Dad are having a bit of a chat," she said, "care to wait inside?"

"Sounds like a plan," her aunt replied. "No need to rush them if it seems like they'll still be a while. John said that this place was en route to the Faiella from his home, so we decided to save you and Henry some walking."

She paused. "I don't recall having met you in my first life, Bess. If you've felt cut off from the family in general, I know enough of my siblings to know that Eric would have had his reasons. Most of us would have seen you as a way to influence him, if not hurt him -- and Benedict was the only one of us who would have thought more than once about your feelings."

Bess shrugged. "I still have no real way of knowing whether I'm of the Blood Royal. The 'mum and dad' thing was a joke. They adopted me, but technically, Grace is my aunt. If my real mother was sleeping with Amberites, I never learned who. I did meet most of Eric's associates, though. I was... well, on intimate terms with Caine, which makes the thought of him being my uncle a little odd."

John chuckled.

Rowan shrugged. "The preponderance of the available evidence suggests you probably are. Until more evidence accumulates, I'll continue as though it's the case. As for your relationship with Caine, it's no less potentially disturbing than what family legend says was true of Uncle Dworkin."

Henry stepped into the room at that moment. He was breathing a little heavily, as if he had difficulty sucking in air. His expression was unreadable.

He glanced around, saw everyone was gathered and in a flash, he was smiling his movie star smile, charging himself up for another social scene.

"So you joined us, eh?" he said to Rowan and John. "Wonderful. And you both look suitably equipped for an adventure."

She grinned. "I rather thought I was the reason for the expedition heading where it was in the first place. As for equipment, Fiona may not have left utilitarian garb at Clarissa's place, but that doesn't mean that she didn't own any."

She paused briefly. "Do we need to collect any additional supplies before leaving, or shall we head for the Faiella-Bionin?"

"If you're all armed, I think we're good," said John. "The old water-breathing spell is still true, it's just full of horrors."

"Everything is full of horrors now," Henry said darkly.

He looked at Bess. "Your mother and I would like you to stay here, so that there is still a fighter type protecting Amber. You'll have the trumps if you need us."

Bess sighed. "Yes, well, you hardly need me now that John's here."

Then a low, commanding woman's voice intruded. "Wait." It was the voice of Grace Blackwell, when she raised it over a bare whisper.

The woman herself- small, with her greying blonde hair, swept into the room. There were fresh tears on her face. She looked directly at Henry, "You're too much Eric for this to be easy. I can't lose him again. I'm going with you. John can stay with his wife and protect the city."

"No point arguing with you," John chuckled, and bowed to her.

She glanced to Rowan. "We haven't met, but despite appearances, I'm every bit as puissant as Sablecloak. And I can speed our progress somewhat."

Henry looked as if he wasn't sure if he was happy about this state of affairs or not. On the one hand, his feelings for Grace were deep and strong and he knew he would enjoy renewing their acquaintance. On the other, he was not relishing a long journey surrounded by women who were probably not going to obey his orders.

The blonde gave a small bow, as befitted her garb, from about the shoulders up. "In these circumstances, a friend of my brother's is a friend of mine. Particularly a friend who isn't happy with the current state of reality.

"Call me Rowan. What Henry is to Eric, I am to Fiona. Though at one point that would likely have kept us from being friends, I hope that will not be true now."

"Princess Fiona helped us, near the end," Grace said with a smile. "I would have been privileged to be her friend." She glanced at Henry, as though she meant to say something, then did not. "Shall we? We have a few hours of daylight if we hurry."

Henry nodded. "And Bess?" he said.

"Someone ought to stay and protect the Villa," Grace said, "there are important things here."

Bess scowled but nodded.

Rowan gestured her own acquiescence. "By all means -- the more daylight remains, the less the drain on whatever reserves I happen to possess until such time as I walk a Broken Pattern."

"Then by all means. Let's get horses ready," Grace said.

Henry nodded, taking the lead. He had, after all, been to Grace's stables before.

The horses were as Henry remembered them. They were strong, tall beasts, but bits of scale replaced their skin in places, and in others bits of bone jutted up at random.

Grace had two of these saddled, and they cantered out to meet Rowan, who was allowed to keep her seat on one of John's.

Grace turned her horse toward the descent to the beaches. "Ready?" she said, and then without waiting for an answer, she began to ride.

The scenery seemed to melt around them, as if they moved much more quickly than was possible. It was not as though she was shifting Shadow, or hellriding, or anything either of the Amberites remembered. It was literally as if the world were hot dripping wax, and the dripping only stopped when they reached the Faiella-Bionin, and Grace dismounted upon suddenly stable sand.

Henry dismounted as well, looking at her curiously. "How did you do that?" he asked.

Before Grace could respond, Rowan said, "It looks like something that might happen in the Courts."

Grace smiled, "You're half right. This form of magic originated in the Courts, but it was lost there centuries ago. It's known as the Storm Mastery."

Silently, the other blonde filed that information away against future use... particularly looking for the opportunity to learn the craft. An extra weapon against family would always be useful.

Henry shook his head. There was too much he didn't remember, even after walking the Pattern... it was as if it kept leaving his head. What had Grace Blackwell to do with the Courts?

Rowan took Grace's lead in dismounting. "I seem to remember that the breathing spell only extends high enough for a tall man to breathe comfortably. Assuming the spell still holds, we'll need to lead the horses down the steps, unless you've a way to send them back readily."

"They'll return to the Villa," Grace said.

"It seems you've a good hand on everything," Henry said approvingly. "Shall we descend, then, ladies?"

He began to walk toward the sea.

Rowan dismounted, and bent forward to whisper something quietly into the horse's ear. After a few moments, she flipped the reins over to lie across its neck and back, then gave it a light pat on the rump to start it on its way. Alert for the unexpected, she followed her brother toward the incoming tide.

So they walked into the sea. The lights upon Faiella-Bionin were dark, but as the black water closed above their heads, it was clear that the passage was still breathable.

Grace summoned a small will-o-wisp which hovered behind her head, creating a small halo of light.

Repeating her gesture from Sablecloak's dinner table, Rowan again breathed the whispered "Lux" to add her own light to what was there.

Henry continued on, placing himself in front of and between the two women, his hand firmly on his sword-hilt. He had memories of Rebma - he had even made advances of possible political marriage to Queen Moire, after all, and the odd sensation of breathing water was not as uncomfortable to him as he expected it to be.

Memories of Moire made him turn and glance back at Grace. He should have married her, but political animal that he was, it had never quite seemed possible.

If Fiona had many memories of Rebma and the underwater stair, few of them had survived to reach her blonde phantasm. Accordingly, she watched warily around here, in as many directions as she could comfortably.

As they descended into the city of Rebma, they saw that it was as haunted and damaged as Amber above. The buildings were cracked, covered in seaweed and in many cases smeared with the debris of clouds of blood. The streets were gone, replaced with red sand that billowed about their feet.

The place seemed utterly deserted save for a few scarred, mutant sharks that circled overhead. For now they seemed to view the party as nothing interesting.

The ruin of Castle Rebma, half crumbled, was barely visible through the murky water.

Henry continued on toward the castle, aware of the sharks, but with more of his attention put to the dangers that he could not see, which might be lurking ahead of them in the waves.

Uncertain whether it was wise to do so, Rowan placed her trust in the strength and longevity of the working of power that had originally made the water in Amber's deep reflection breatheable. Quietly, she said "Should we go straight for the castle, or is there a back way in that might prove wiser? I lack our sister's knowledge of the Deep City."

She paused. "In any event, we should be extremely careful. They might be attracted to the result of any accidents." She motioned at the sharks swimming above.

Grace smiled, and glanced up at the sharks. "I think they are watchdogs for someone or something. Possibly someone long dead. Unless there is a trigger still, there is little to worry over."

They reached the gates of the city, which were broken, and Grace panted a little as she pulled herself over the twisted iron.

Henry raised an eyebrow at her self-sufficiency, but merely smiled, offering his hand to Rowan if she would like assistance over the gates.

A shy-ish smile crept across the blonde's lips. Observing the small courtesies now could save headache in the future. She accepted the hand, though the push against it did not feel particularly hard.

Regardless of her decision, he followed the women, moving as if the water had no effect on him, even in his flowing cloak.

"If this is a true mirror of Amber, then the chamber of the Pattern-under-the-Sea should lie up the mountain, toward the surface. Is that correct?"

"I have never been in Rebma before," said Grace, "but your logic seems sound."

Indeed, the rest of the architecture, though damaged, seemed quite identical, though reversed.

"In that case, let us climb the mountain." With that simple statement, Rowan began to swim toward the pinnacle visible in the distance. She kept her strokes smooth so as not to inadvertently disturb the underwater watchdogs, and took care not to venture too far ahead of her companions.

Henry followed, cutting confidently through the water without making any effort not to disturb anyone. His powerful hands came together and then arced apart in his swimming, long, easy confident moves. He oozed a sort of unconscious competence designed to make attackers second-guess their intentions.

Needless, they reach the spire unmolested. It has windows, though they are made of a very tough stuff, thick enough to handle the water pressure. There are no other entrances from the outside.

"It's always easier to go down than up." With that terse statement, Rowan began to hike her way carefully down the mountain side, looking to reach a courtyard area somewhere within the castle proper, so as to find entrance to the tower.

"Follow me, ladies," said Henry, swimming past Rowan and toward where the main entrance would have been in Castle Amber, hoping that the layout was pretty much the same.

It is indeed, though many things are reversed, and, beneath the ruin, it is obvious that the architectural style and ornaments were dramatically different, more suited to a Rebman aesthetic.

Huge billows of blood hang in clouds in the first corridors, along with the bodies of a few strange-looking Rebmans. There is a man standing beyond them. He is tall, blond, and has a knife in his hand. A filleting knife. Oh, the irony.

Rowan's left hand flipped up to the silver lacework hanging from her ears, an unconscious gesture from which Fiona would have taken reassurance. A quick snap of her wrist brought the silver knife she had appropriated from Fiona's rooms in Castle Amber down into her hand from its sheath underneath the sleeve of her blouse.

Despite a peripheral knowledge of Rowan's actions, Henry kept himself firmly between the women and this strange blond man. He did not draw his sword, however.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"A strange being," the man replied lazily, advancing through the billows of smoke and hanging, mutilated corpses. "Recently demoted to the singularly uninteresting task of hacking up cannibalistic sea-people. But what else can I do? They might have tried to harm her."

As he came near enough, it became evident that his eyes were like pinwheels of rainbow colors, glassy and strange. He was very handsome, but Grace gasped in an uncharacteristic display of terror, and stepped more sharply behind Henry.

Henry stood up straighter, as if he could hide her presence as easily as he shielded her slight frame from view. "We wish no harm to any here," Henry said. "Only that my sister may walk Rebma's Pattern and regain some memories. May we go by?"

More clumsily than she might have wished, Rowan had the athame back up her sleeve. Boldly, she stepped in front of her brother and addressed the Blood Hunter. "Greetings, old friend. Although the one you protected walks no longer above or below the waves, the Pattern has tasks yet for her to accomplish. To that end, it has created me. By her jewels shall you know me for her place, as none of her kin knew of them. May I approach you safely while you are satisfied as to my bona fides?"

"It's not necessary," the Blood Hunter said gently. "Through distance and turmoil I quite clearly sensed that yours was the closest to her soul still moving. Your appearance means nothing to me. Your jewels likewise, though I recognize them. Tell me, however, do you recall my name? I have forgotten it."

"If Fiona gave you a name beyond your title, it is forgotten to me at present. In the memories that have survived to me, you are known as the Blood Hunter.

"Tell me true: is there danger ahead in or near the chamber of the Pattern-Under-the-Waves?"

Henry waited cautiously, continuing to block Grace from the Blood Hunter, and content for the moment to allow Rowan to communicate with the creature - since she seemed to have some kind of power over him.

A flash of something crossed his strange eyes, but it was unreadable and soon gone. He said, "Not anymore."

She nodded regally. The gesture, unconscious as it was, evoked memories in Henry of Eric watching Queen Clarissa at court with Oberon.

The Blood Hunter gave them all a level look. "I will walk with you to the Pattern chamber. It may be that more of Fi's memories will be restored. No need to cower, Miss Blackwell, I have no reason to kill you now."

"That, indeed, is what we expect. And I, for one, shall be glad to recover them -- if only to better judge where Clarissa may have taken the Jewel of Judgement when she stole it from me."

Grace straightened a bit, so that she was not hiding so much, but did not move closer to him. "I haven't noticed that you need much of a reason. You slaughtered defenders in the city as well as attackers."

Rowan looked at the older woman. "I appreciate your hospitality earlier, but I must ask you to wait to bring up any old grudges until I have survived my ordeal." As before, she was surprisingly commanding when compared to the disoriented woman Henry had brought through the trump earlier.

Henry shook his head. "And I appreciate your desire to regain your memories and powers, sister, but I don't think we'll be telling each other how to feel about a past we were not alive to experience. That there is bad blood between Grace and the Hunter is immaterial anyway, as I believe we would all like to see you walk Rebma's Pattern. Shall we go down?"

A small sigh of relief escaped the blonde. "Yes, let's. And thank you for understanding."

She stood back and allowed the men to lead the way.

"In any case," Grace straightened, seeming to gain a measure of control, "I hold no... grudge against the Blood Hunter. I'm terrified of him, as would anyone be who lived through those days."

The Blood Hunter sketched her a curt bow. "There is generally more than one side to each story, but why linger in the corridor? The Pattern is this way."

He led them through the swirls of hanging blood.

Henry followed directly behind the Blood Hunter, thus keeping himself between Grace and the man she still feared.

Henry looked about him as they walked and said aloud, "What has happened here? This place is more dead and defiled even than Amber."

"Rebma was attacked and partially demolished, as Amber was. But it was also depopulated during the Witch King's battle with La Conta," Grace explained. "The Rebmans that lived stooped to cannibalism and murder in order to survive."

"There weren't many," the Blood Hunter said curtly. "It didn't take long."

Henry's face darkened and he said nothing more, as the old anger threatened to take him over again. It wasn't anger directed at the Blood Hunter - Henry felt that death was better than becoming what the poor Rebmans had become (whether or not they would have agreed). The anger wasn't even for La Conta. Instead, it was for the mysterious person who had begun all this and succeeded in destroying everything Eric had loved (except for Grace and Livia).

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