Cave of Sleepers: Io

Written by Alan J. Wake

Entry 24

I don't know what it is that disturbs me so much about
Uhvild's herbal mantrah, but it does. Whether its emetic
qualities are due to the repetition, your tale of filth and
decay, or my environs, I cannot tell. The infection in
that hand could just as easily come from the air you
breathe, so perhaps it is best you are where you are.
Sorry, I should be more positive, but when Rebma is
mentioned all I can think of is the ceiling falling down,
and slowly suffocating...

More messages, and another Sleeper wakes. What
wonders await Lyssa on the other side of the blue veil?
Think bright thoughts, dream your dreams and learn
to live them. If only I had followed my own advise.

I have been sent away to create trumps, which is
something I never thought would be asked of me. Yet
here I sit, on the banks of the Styx, dipping frames of
wood into the fast-flowing stream. It has been impressed
upon me that these simple frames are very valuable,
and I must take care with them. Only one tree has the
stubbornness to grow here: the Death's Head Oak. All
else simply crumbles to dust, while this one plant has
weathered the ebb and flow to extend its skeletal
branches to the patchwork sky. With the correct
enchantments, its wood can capture a microfilm of
essence from the stream and create a blank trump.

I don't pretend to understand the science of it, but
these things are truly a wonder to behold. A
meniscus-thin sheet of quicksilver hangs between the
bars of the frame, when the job is done correctly. The
mirroring effect is quite unnerving, rather like a Dorian
portrait, reflecting past glories instead of an accurate
image.
With practice, I could make any image from memory
appear there, and tempted though I was to extend a
contact, I had been warned against such adventures.
We hope that with these 'flux trumps' we can find a
gate to the Bifrost Bridge.

It was a relief to find the communicator still worked
after Kristel had prised the thing to pieces. She made
a cumbersome copy, which I have been able to forward
some messages to. She spent much of the time
admiring Dworkin's handiwork without achieving a great
deal, and I found myself reading the chalked notes she
had made about the prototype key.
Moments of revelation are rare for me, but I must have
had one, for I heard the table break and my fist was
bleeding. She had headed up the equations with the
words ' Life, the Universe and Everything'. The scribbles
beneath extended in a long and frenzied arc, ending
with the number forty two. She was at my side
suddenly, her breath short with excitement.
' The Universal Frequency', she enthused, ' the same
principle that allows these messages to be carried
through every space, time and dimension. It will give
us your key! '

The Key of Time. There was so little I understood, I
feared what might happen if Kristel were taken from
me. The Queen could be fickle, certainly jealous, and
what's to say she would not take what we had learned
for herself? She would certainly love the chance to see
Corwin again - maybe knock some sense into him. I
resolved that when I left, there would be no evidence
to tell what had gone on here.
' Soon we will test the Trumps, and you will take me
to Amber.' She said.
I opened my mouth to protest, and she waved a finger in
admonishment.
' You should know me well enough by now not to waste
your breath arguing. '
So I didn't.

And here I remain. I look up at the distant tower, and
wonder what she sees from there. To her, it must
seem I have been here years, dipping these frames,
hunting for food, washing in what rainstorms come.
She must think me a very slack worker.

The messages I get give cold comfort. A cavalcade of
names that mean nothing to me, making my head
throb to think that the few scions of Amber I knew
have been so prolific in their journeys. Perhaps the
thinner their blood, the more like Chaosians they
become. From Chaos we came and to Chaos we
will one day return.
 

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