InuYasha Fan Fiction / Fan Fiction ❯ Shattered Minds, Shattered Hearts ❯ The start of trouble... ( Prologue )

My black boots created echoes in the empty stone antechamber, and my silver-lined cloak fluttered with my swift movements. A young man stood when he saw me enter, and saluted me. His weary blue eyes focused on my green ones.

 

“Has there been any change?” I asked.

“No, Lord Corwin, Dworkin is still… ill,” the guard informed me.

“You look like you haven't slept in days. When does the next shift take over?”

“Uhh… three hours, My Lord.”

“How long is your post?”

“Eighteen hours, My Lord.”

“By the Unicorn, that's almost three shifts! I need to speak with Dworkin. You are dismissed from duty; go and get some shut-eye.”

“What about the post, My Lord?”

“I shall see to it that more men are assigned to this post. Until your replacement arrives, I will take over.”

He bowed, and turned to leave.

“What is your name?”

“Kaleb, My Lord.”

“Very well. Good evening, Kaleb.”

 

Every day, I had gone to check on my grandfather. Every day had shown the same results. I had not seen Dworkin this mentally fragmented since… well since the Patternfall fiasco sixty years before. Damn my siblings and their power-plays!

 

The only person who might know something about our Sire's condition is no longer around. My father, Oberon, died fixing what Brand, Bleys, and Fiona had done. Only Brand had opposed the Family in the end. I am convinced he was insane… clinically nuts, more so than that Hannibal Lector from Shadow Earth I had inhabited for so long. I wondered sometimes if Hannibal is one of Brand's mad Shadows.

 

Such a sorry state I had fallen to: from the Liege to a messenger. I suppose it didn't really matter, though. Someone had to do it, and I got stuck with the job.

 

I entered the chamber, not sure what I would find. Seeing my grandfather sketching Trumps of the Unicorn surprised me. I could see the Pattern at work, so I knew it was a Trump, instead of a simple sketch. I wondered if he knew what he was doing, making a device to contact her with and questioned what would happen if he attempted to use it, if the image would come alive, making a wrinkle in space, physically linking himself and the Unicorn—the Pattern herself. This was the first I had seen him use the Pattern at all since his mind had gone again.

 

I waited a moment, hoping he would see me, or otherwise note my presence. After a few moments filled with pencil scraping on paper, I cleared my throat.

 

He turned. His face seemed to melt, and flowed to mimic my own, and his body changed in dimensions, becoming my height, though a bit skinnier. His hunchback also disappeared. I was filled with déjà vu, remembering the last time he had so presented himself to me. He had been mentally ill then, as well.

I stared into the same green eyes, framed by the same tanned face, framed by the same black hair and beard. Even the silver rose clasp about my neck, holding my cloak on was duplicated.

 

“Well, well. It is good to see you again, boy.”

“You seem to be yourself today.”

“Myself… that is a strange word. Who am I?”

“Dworkin, creator of the Pattern. Father of Oberon, now dead.”

He nodded, but seemed distracted.

“I made a pattern? Was it crochet?”

I felt like screaming back at him that he created the universe with that Pattern, and that, no, it was not crochet. I didn't have time for either. His features shifted again, and he took the form of a woman; she looked to be about thirty, and had waist-length curls the color of the outer edge of a flame, blue eyes, and a pale. I recognized her as my sister.

“I saw her yesterday. Could you tell me who she was? She was nice.”

“The person you are imitating, you mean?”

He/she nodded.

“Your granddaughter, Fiona.”

The fiery red curls bounced when he/she jumped up and down, suddenly clapping like a fourteen year old on a sugar high. His features shifted again, and took on those of a man, much the same as Fiona in colorings, but emitting none of the cold air of the woman, instead a summation of a paradox of extremes—calculating, but hot headed; smart of impulsive. None other than Brand, my long dead brother. I had to hold back a sneer.

“I see him in my dreams a lot, and he says he's going to going to destroy her.” He pointed to his picture of the Unicorn. “… he scares me.”

I sighed. Dworkin was still out of it. He still didn't know who he—or any of his offspring—was. He didn't even know what the Unicorn, the Living Pattern, mother of Oberon, was, or who she was. Dworkin was having nightmares of Patternfall again. I thought they had stopped, but during the last nine months or so, they have returned with a vengeance. Every night, he tells me. And every night, I don't know how to respond.

He shifted again, taking on the form of the Pattern itself. I inhaled sharply. This was a new development. Maybe he was beginning to remember?

His voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. “I also dream of you. I wonder who you are, and why you take such a strange shape. I wonder why, when I see you, I am reminded of these.” He was apparently talking to himself. But, he shifted to a giant ruby, the shape of the Jewel of Judgment, hanging from a gold chain. Then, to a trump of the Courts of Chaos. The ground was of red soil and rocks, no vegetation. That eerie sky, split down the middle; one side, streaks of billowy colors in the rainbow, constantly churning and changing. The other, night sky, minus the moon, but the stars cavorted and danced. Not twinkled, but moved, as if in some cosmic ballroom. Then, the Unicorn stood before me, cloven hooves pawing at the ground, golden horn pointed towards the sky. He changed back to his true form—an elderly man, hunchback, white hair and beard, wrinkled skin, and haunting green eyes, much like my own except they were tempered with so much more experience, I felt like a small child again.

“I don't know who you are. I wish I did. You all seem so nice. Especially you.” He looked at me pleadingly, as if I could restore his memories. I turned, hand on the door. “What is your name?”

I sighed. I felt helpless. He asked this question every time, for the last nine months. “Corwin,” I said, and then left.

 

***************************************************************** ***

 

I sat at the guard's table after my conversation with Random, and awaited the replacement. Random, my brother and King, had no idea what brought on the change. The next guard, a boy named Miller, no older than twenty, took my place. He was obviously surprised that a Lord of Amber would be doing guard duty. I left for my chambers and let oblivion rule my mind until it was pitch black outside.

 

I awoke thirteen hours later with a sick feeling in my gut; the whole situation reminded me a bit too much of the Patternfall war. It was times like these I wished Ganelon was still with me. Even if he was my father in disguise, he had always seemed a good, trustworthy friend, a rarity in Amber, and he had quite a few fine ideas in his days with me. Instead, I went to see my favorite brother.

 

I found him sitting with Martin and Julian playing poker. His shock of dishwater blond hair was as unkempt as always. He might be king, but he was still the runt of the litter, and just as unpredictable as his name implied. Random was by far the best poker player in the realm, and I had to admire the way he kept his face completely blank, even with that strait flush he was holding. Martin had nothing on his father when it came to cards. If you discounted the spiked Mohawk and various piercings, he looked much like his father: about the same height, and same light build, similarly sharp noses. Julian still sat with his impeccable white armor on. Though it may seem more festive than durable, I knew very well how tough that armor was—only silver could pierce it; both Random and I had tried shooting him with regular bullets. He looked much like me, a bit thicker, but not as much as Gerard, our only other living full-blooded brother and the strongest of all of us Amberites. Julian's icy cold poker face extended to his personality; however, even with his legendary self-control, he was still a shitty poker player.

 

Martin noted my presence first. “Uncle! It is good to see you.”

 

Neither of my brothers acknowledged me until after the round, which Random claimed.

 

Julian nodded towards me then left the room. Random stood and clasped my shoulder. Always a pleasure, brother. However, we have issues we need to discuss. Grab some Bailey's, and we'll head somewhere private.”

 

Nothing more was said until we were at the stables.

“Take Mori. I think he is rather suited to you.” Random smirked at me as he said this.

“Which one is that—you seem to have replenished your horses since I was last in need of one.”

“Oh, you'll know.” He stated.

I looked down the stable and spotted a beautiful steed with a black coat and silver mane and tail.

“He is yours to keep, brother.”

 

We headed off at a good gait, and I recognized where his destination was.

“Wish to impart morbid thoughts into my head?” I asked as we pulled rein at my cenotaph.

“Hardly. It is just that no one frequents here, probably due to them seeing you enough in person.”

I had to chuckle at that. “So what is it that you wished to speak about?”

He held up a fragment of something, a shard of glass, about half an inch long, and kind of an opaque pink-white color.

“What is it?” I couldn't believe Random would be getting so worked up about a little piece of colored glass. When I really looked at it, though, it seemed half-familiar, like the tail end of a dream you can only remember wisps of.

“I was hoping you might know. I already consulted Fiona and she had the same reaction I did.”

He held it out and I took it from his palm. It felt warm to the touch, and great power radiated out from it. It reminded me of the Unicorn.

“Does it have something to do with the Pattern?”

“I thought that too, and Fi looked at it. She told me it was incomplete—like it was broken off from a larger whole.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Merlin. He contacted me via trump. Said some guards were escorting a prisoner to their penal colony, and ran across another outcast, who attacked them. One guard died, but the other killed the attacker and found this inside his body.”

I hadn't thought about my son in some time. He was King in The Courts of Chaos, though I knew he didn't want to be. He was just a puppet for that bitch, Dara—his mother, and his older brother Mandor. Those two were the ones who had me locked up in that damned chapel in the Courts of Chaos for the period between Patternfall and when Merlin took over in Chaos.

I nodded, asking him to continue.

“I don't know, Corwin, but I want you to figure out what this thing is, where it came from, and why the estranged Chaosians have shards of it in the first place.”

I nodded again. “Okay, but where is this colony?”

He sighed, and suddenly I felt a sense of foreboding. “On Shadow Earth, where you used to reside. Specifically, in Japan. Go there and see what you can find. Trump me when you find something.”

“Alright, when do you want me to leave?”

He smirked at me. “As soon as you learn Japanese.”