Down the Drain

A story of Derith of Amber

by Jeffrey Hosmer


	Derith closed down his trump contact and sighed, rubbing 
a hand over his eyes. It was as bad as he feared.

	The Prince-Consort of Rebma and Prince of Amber stood, 
stretching his stiff back. His body was slow, sluggish, 
protesting every action. It didn't matter. His mind was what 
was important, and it was awhirl with thoughts.

	Annadil was going to win. At the next full moon, the 
gates would open for him, letting the power of the World 
Revolution out.

	He was out of time.

*****

	Rebma, the jewel beneath the sea, his home. Always it 
reflected Amber, his birthplace, that stone prison that would 
never be home. His blood was here, beneath the waves, among 
the coral beds.

	His home was with his family.

	He nodded to the guard outside his chambers as he walked 
in, to stop suddenly as he saw his wife. She was slowly 
combing her sea-green hair in front of a mirror, letting it 
float in the water around her like a cloud. His throat 
tightened as he realized what might happen to her, to 
everyone, when Annadil opened the Gate.

	"Husband," she said with a reserved smile, turning to 
greet him. The smile faded slightly when she saw his face. 
"What is it?"

	"Moira," he began, then stopped. It seemed such a crime 
to burden her with the doom to come.

	"Derith," she said with that nagging lilt she always used 
to worm the truth out of him, "tell me what's bothering you." 
She stood and walked over to him.

	He stopped her at arms length, reaching up to cup her 
face. "I love you, Moira," he said simply. "I married you for 
that, not politics, no matter what my family says."

	She clasped his hand in both of hers, kissing it gently. 
"I know, love. What's bothering you? Why do you bring up old 
pain?"

	"Our Enemy has the four keys he needs to open the Gate. 
If nothing is done soon, Amber will be destroyed."

	"And Rebma will follow it." She drew closer to him. "What 
can we do?"

	"I had hoped that we could defeat him... I thought that 
we could save everything. But he has proven too cunning, too 
clever."

	Her brow furrowed in consternation. "You are not going to 
seek him out, are you?"

	Derith shook his head. "No. He is on a par with my old 
teacher. He could shred my mind in an instant." He hated to 
admit that. For years, he had been considered the pre-eminent 
mind among his family, second only to Fuyutsuki, the drawer of 
the Primal Pattern itself. Now....

*****

	Derith writhed in the shadowy web of lightning, striking 
him, slashing at him, pounding on his defenses, no let up, no 
release, the laughter, the face of Chaos, the son of Chaos, 
his mind was eggshell thin, a chick must break its shell, the 
shell is the world.

	PooR LItTle LOrd oF OrdER, came a voice, a trumpet, an 
animal's bleating, music of the spheres, SUch a PUny MinD, SO 
UnPrePArED. yoU THoUGht You COuLd BeaT ME?

	Cast out, falling, darkness all around, the Pattern 
swirling, things gibbering in the darkness, things not of 
shadow or reality, obscene things, mad things, any things....

*****

	"Derith?" Moira's voice came from a far distant place. 
"Come back to me, please. You're scaring me. Derith, please."

	He shook his head, snapping out of the memory. Annadil 
was a being whose mind was of a wholly different order. As 
much as it galled Derith, he was nowhere near Annadil's level.

	He took his wife's hands in his own again. "I'm sorry," 
he said, kissing her gently. Seeing the worry in her eyes, he 
was quick to continue. "I DO have a plan, Moira, but it is 
dangerous."

	Only a 30% chance of success, his mind screamed at him. 
You're not ready!

	"Dangerous to you...?"

	"Dangerous to us all. I might be able to save Rebma, but 
there is a risk."

	"I trust you, Derith, but--"

	A high-pitched cry interrupted them, and she pulled 
herself away, going over to a small bassinet. Reaching down, 
she pulled up a small bundle, her son. Derith's son.

	"Looks like the little one wanted to make his opinion 
known," she joked, holding her son close.

	"Can I--?" he asked hesitantly. Knowing what he wanted, 
she handed him his son. Carefully, he cradled the little boy 
in his arms. "Lucien," he whispered. Blood of his blood, blood 
of Amber, blood of Rebma. So much rested on this little boy. 
His son.

	Derith closed his eyes. There was so much danger 
surrounding his home, his family. He hated the feeling of 
helplessness that surrounded him. He was out of options and 
almost out of time.

	Raising his eyes to meet those of his wife. "Moira, I am 
going to save our home, I promise you that. Or I will die 
trying."

	"Don't say that, love," she said. "I couldn't..."

	"No. I have to do this. Annadil will destroy everything. 
I can't stop him now. I can only try to save a small part. And 
our son will be a part I will definitely save. I will send him 
somewhere safe, out in shadows so deep that Annadil will not 
touch him. If I succeed, I will bring him back."

	"Derith... is it that bad?"

	His clear blue eyes met hers in deadly earnest. "Worse."

	Moira was a Princess of Rebma. She knew the demands of 
duty. "I will stand by you, my love," she said. "Do what you 
think is best." With that, she leaned over to kiss her son on 
the forehead, one last time.

	Derith closed his eyes, visualizing the Pattern. It 
glowed in his mind's eye as he moved along its curves. When 
done, he reached out his mind, seeking the shadow he had long 
prepared for this day. When he found it, he held up his son, 
holding him carefully across the divide of shadows, until he 
felt another pair of hands accept him. Letting go of Lucien 
was the hardest part of this exercise, but he forced himself 
to do it.

	He opened his eyes. His son was gone.

	"He is safe," he said to his weeping wife, holding her 
close. "Now I will see to his birthright."

	Carefully, Derith removed the Water Jewel from around his 
neck. He would have liked to give his son Greyswandir as well, 
but Annadil had that. He shook his head. Had he been foolish 
to give the blade to his brother? No. It had given Miki a 
chance against the Trump Elementals, and that was all Derith 
could do for his sibling.

	Another Pattern portal opened and the Water Jewel was 
safe, hidden in recursive and non-Euclidean spaces, until 
Lucien's destiny brought it to him. Annadil could find it, 
given time, but Derith didn't think he'd spare the effort. Not 
when the Jewel of Judgement was a far greater prize.

	Speaking of which...

	"Moira, I want you to stand outside. I will join you in a 
moment."

	"No, Derith."

	He took her hands in his, marveling as always at their 
graceful beauty. "Dear, what I'm about to do, you should not 
see. That way no one can accuse you of complicity."

	"I swore to stand by you, husband, no matter what. I will 
share the dangers and the joys equally." Her musical voice 
carried a hint of steel, the same hint that had attracted him 
to her for more than her position. Derith thanked the Narwhale 
again for letting him find his true love in the same person as 
the fulfillment of his dreams.

	He smiled. "I am not so foolish as to argue with you, my 
dear." Focusing on the Pattern again, he sent it out along a 
different path, reaching for the mystical object that was the 
basis of the Pattern, the heart of chaos, the Eye of the 
Serpent.

	The Jewel of Judgement rested in his hand.

	Closing his fist over it, Derith took his wife's hand. 
"Come, we must hurry now. Tylor will soon notice the Jewel is 
missing."

	They stepped outside their rooms where a young lady with 
long blue hair and clad in blue armor stood. Derith smiled at 
her.

	"Sapphire," he greeted the Blue Knight, Defender of the 
Water Pattern. "You know what I am about to do?"

	"Yes, but I urge you to reconsider. It's very dangerous 
and the others might be able to defeat Annadil with our help. 
We could--"

	Derith shushed her by placing one finger on her lips. "I 
know, but we risk losing all that way. If I succeed, something 
will be saved."

	Sapphire stepped back, still looking uncomfortable. "I 
will be incapacitated by this. I won't be able to defend you."

	"Dear Sapphire," Derith said as the Blue Knight looked up 
at him in adoration. He felt guilty for a moment. She loved 
him, he knew, but his heart belonged to Moira. Both Hiko and 
Corrine had found love with their Patterns' Defenders, and he 
could have loved the Blue Knight. But that wasn't to be. "This 
is my chance to defend you and all of Rebma. Have faith in 
me."

	"I do," the Blue Knight whispered. "I will never leave 
your side."

	Derith turned back to his wife, who was gazing at the 
Blue Knight sadly. "Come, we must hurry," he said.

	Hand in hand, they hurried through the halls of Castle 
Rebma. Derith wanted to slow, to fix in his memory the sights 
and sounds of his beloved home, but there was no time. So what 
could be his last moments of life became a blur of corridors 
and stairs.

	The guards outside the Pattern room let him pass, closing 
the door behind him and the Princess. For a moment, Derith 
could just stare at the Pattern, a reflection of the Prime, 
one of five elemental copies of the One True Pattern. There 
was power here, power he had spent a lifetime mastering. No 
one, save Fuyutski, knew more about this particular Pattern. 
He allowed himself a moment of pride over his accomplishments, 
trying to use that to drive out the terror of what he was 
about to attempt.

	"What are you going to do, Derith?" Moira asked, looking 
out over the design that would mean death to her if she so 
much as set foot on it.

	"I am going to redraw the Pattern with the Jewel of 
Judgement," he said, staring into the depths of the Jewel as 
if seeking his answers there. "If this works, Rebma will be 
home to a new Primal Pattern and I, as its architect, will 
gain the power to stand against Annadil."

	"And if you fail...?" She didn't want to ask that 
question, but both her love and her duty drove her.

	"If I fail, I die. Rebma might die with me. I... don't 
know for certain. It depends how badly I fail. But if I don't 
try to do SOMETHING, Annadil will destroy us anyway."

	"You will succeed, husband. I know you will."

	One last kiss said all the things left unsaid between 
them, the things that never needed to be said. Tears welled up 
in both their eyes, but they went unshed.

	"I will pray to the Narwhale for you," was all she said.

	"I will carry you in my heart forever," he promised.

	It was time.

	Staring into the heart of the Jewel of Judgement, Derith 
cleared his mind of everything except the Water Pattern. He 
plunged into the depths of the ruby, deep into a three-
dimensional abstract of the Pattern. Slowly, he struggled with 
it. The Jewel did not want to repeat old Patterns, it tried to 
show him something new, a new aspect of its core. His mind was 
stronger, however, and he forced his vision, that of the 
existing Pattern, onto it. Finally, the Jewel submitted to 
him. The first stage was done.

	Holding the Jewel before him, Derith took the first step 
onto the Pattern. Almost immediately, the pressure began. He 
had walked the Pattern more times than anyone and was 
intimately familiar with every curve and kink. He had once 
bragged that he could walk it blindfolded.

	He regretted that bravado now, for a blindfold would be 
easy compared to this. He was walking the Pattern in the 
Jewel, his feet following his mind on the path. He was 
fighting with the Jewel to keep it on the old Water Pattern, 
not a new Pattern. His feet wanted to leave the Pattern, to 
move in new directions. He wasn't sure what the result would 
be if he did that. He didn't want to find out.

	Sweat poured down his brow. It felt like he was encased 
tree sap, struggling to move as it hardened around him. He 
kept himself focused on two things: the Pattern and the need 
to keep moving.

	The First Veil blazed with the fury of a thunderstorm as 
he walked through it, his speed slowing to a shuffle. One 
hurdle crossed, but he felt like he had run a marathon. His 
heart was pounding in his chest. He kept the image of the 
Pattern before him, sparkling in the depths of the Jewel.

	The Second Veil now. It was like the agony of birth, 
forcing him out into the light. He was cold. Everything seemed 
unreal, except for the Jewel and the fatigue closing in on 
him.

	The Grand Arch stood beneath him, the home stretch. Every 
step seemed to take an eternity, but he moved with the 
determination of a glacier.

	Then a small gasp broke his concentration. Energy 
coruscated around him and the Pattern as he looked across the 
Pattern.

	Moira hung in the grip of a tall, dark-cloaked man, her 
blood gushing forth from her neck in obscene spurts. The knife 
in the man's hand seemed to smoke as Moira's blood wafted away 
from it into the surrounding water.

	"Well done!" the man shouted. "I would applaud, but as 
you can see my hands are full. But you might have succeeded, 
Derith of Rebma."

	"ANNADIL!" Derith screamed.

	"At your service," the man said with a bow. As he did so, 
he tossed Moira to the ground. Her open, empty eyes seemed to 
beg Derith for aid, but he had none to give.

	"Just when I thought I had seen everything you poor 
fixed-shapes could come up with, you come up with something 
new. Redrawing a Shadow Pattern into a Primal Pattern. Well 
done, indeed. Had you finished, I would be calling you my 
equal."

	Derith slowly turned himself away from his enemy. The 
Pattern protected him from any mental attacks, as long as he 
accepted no Trump contacts or met Annadil's eyes. He had to 
get moving again. He had to finish or who knew what disaster 
would befall Rebma.

	But he had stopped on the Pattern!

	The trick to walking the Pattern was to keep moving. It 
was almost impossible to start again once you had stopped. And 
that was in a normal walking. This was ten, no, a hundred 
times worse. Still, with Moira's bloody face floating in front 
of him, Derith made himself take a step. Then another. It was 
agony, worse than even the grief that had clenched his heart. 
But he kept going.

	"My, my, my... you ARE full of surprises, aren't you." 
Annadil's voice had an honest tinge of admiration in it. 
"Fuyutsuki himself couldn't have done better. A pity."

	Another step. The Final Veil loomed ahead, so close, yet 
an interminable number of steps away.

	"Are you aware of the fatal weakness of these Patterns? A 
little of the right sort of blood on it and it's like pouring 
acid on a lace doily."

	Don't listen to him. Another step. Another step.

	"Of course, that's only the Primal Pattern. But this is 
almost a Primal Pattern, isn't it? Thanks to you."

	The Final Veil. Almost there. Keep moving.

	Derith never heard the twang of the crossbow. He could 
only stare in numb amazement at the shaft that protruded now 
from his side. His legs buckled beneath him while his hands 
flew to the wound. His blood mustn't touch the Pattern. He 
mustn't damage it, not now!

	Blue and white energy ran rampant through the Pattern 
Chamber, arcing between any two surfaces. Derith slowly raised 
his head to face his tormentor, who was calmly loading another 
bolt.

	"A true pity," Annadil said, sighting along the crossbow. 
"But you can go to your death with the knowledge that you only 
hastened the inevitable. Soon I will Revolutionize the World, 
and this pathetic city would have been destroyed. But first, I 
think I shall claim my prize from your corpse. That little 
bauble in your hand should be very useful."

	Derith met Annadil's eyes then, no longer fearing any 
sort of mental contact. As he did, he breathed out his Curse 
on Annadil and his plans.

	The second bolt caught him high in the middle of his 
chest. just missing the heart. It did not matter. Derith's 
blood gushed out over the Pattern, turning a vast area of it 
dark.

	"The Great Old Ones come!" Annadil screamed in dark joy.

	The Pattern was weakening, and things were pushing at it. 
Things beyond even Chaos. Derith only sensed them weakly. He 
could do little to stop them. But as long as he drew breath, 
he would do what little he could.

	"You... won't... win..." he gasped, holding the Jewel to 
his bloody chest.

	The Jewel slowly slid inside his flash, fusing with him, 
adding itself to him. Derith screamed in agony as its 
perceptions became his. He was using himself, his mind and 
body, as a last line of defense for the Jewel. As long as he 
held it inside him, he would not die. Neither would he live. 
The Jewel was trapped in him, and he was trapped in the Jewel. 
For as long as his tortured flesh and mind could hold out, it 
would be safe.

	Around him, the dark stain of his blood grew as he lay on 
the Pattern, screaming to the heavens. Around him, rock 
splintered and burst, water swirled and roared. The people of 
Rebma screamed as their city was torn from its foundation and 
thrust somewhere else.

	Real fear crossed Annadil's face as he saw what was 
happening. He ran from the Pattern Chamber, from the broken 
husk of the man he had killed. A dead man who was still 
screaming as the Water Pattern burned in liquid flame.

	The Great Old Ones came next, ghostly and indistinct. 
Derith blocked their passage, a cosmic cork in the hole 
Annadil had made for them. They gyrated and gibbered over 
Derith, forcing their minds and bodies on him, trying to break 
free.

	Annadil finally managed to teleport himself away, and 
even that left him weak and gasping on the beach near Faiella-
bionin. He looked out in awe on what would come to be called 
"Derith's Folly," a gaping abyss surrounded by swirling water 
that ever fed its gaping maw. The term whirlpool did not do it 
justice. And somewhere, Annadil realized, at the bottom of it 
all, a dead man lay screaming.

	The Son of Chaos frowned, then shrugged. The Jewel of 
Judgement was lost, at least for now. It would have been nice 
to have, but Revolutionizing the world came first. After he 
had opened the Gate, he could spend the necessary time to find 
it.

	Meanwhile, his senses had picked up something very 
interesting. It seemed someone else was drawing a Pattern. A 
Flawed One, to boot.

	"Poor fool," Annadil said to the whirlpool, addressing 
his words to Derith. "But it seems to run in the family," he 
said with a laugh, as his senses showed him the architect of 
the new Pattern, a dark-skinned man with pink-hair who lay 
exhausted in the center of his new Pattern.

	Whistling a jaunty tune, Annadil strode off into Shadow.

THE END