Amber, year 16, day 254 continued

Whimsy seems to be having some trouble adapting to Amber. Which is only to be expected, I suppose. She's spent more years in Chaos than I've been alive. How strange Amber must seem to her after all of that. It still seems strange to me, and I only had 50 years in Shadow to handicap me. She's upset that her mother isn't acting the way she's used to, nor is Caine for that matter. I wonder what Caine and Fiona were like in Chaos? I may have seen a glimpse of it in Caine and Whimsy's behavior at dinner the other night. A somewhat more informal style, certainly. It's hard to imagine Fiona like that. Which would explain the change in her behavior that Whimsy has commented on. It must be frustrating to see your mother change overnight like that.

Whimsy also said that Flora isn't living up to the description of her that Fiona gave - she was supposed to be some sort of social paragon, apparently. She is the member of the family that comes closest to that, certainly. But she's only human, and she's been through a lot. I know better than most what that feels like. Maybe Whimsy would understand if I told her that Flora has lost a child, as well.

I'd like to strangle the boys, sometimes. At twelve, they're more than old enough to know better than to behave like that on such an occasion. What's gotten into them, lately? Even my own children don't respect me, anymore. If they ever did. What's odd is the shackles they claimed appeared and then disappeared on them. I'd think they were making it up, but I could see that Morgan was telling the truth. Whimsy's doing, perhaps? The second incident did occur after they ignored her... At least it doesn't seem to have been maliciously intended, so far as I can tell. I don't think I could handle any more problems right now.

Well, I've begun the process of acquiring tutors for the children. I only hope I'm doing the right thing. My decisions of late have all been uniformly bad. With the exception of rescuing Nicholas, I can't think of a single thing that I've done right recently. But it's hard to imagine how hiring tutors could make things worse. The boys are getting out of control as it is.

Ishmael's invited me to breakfast. The note didn't give any further details. He obviously wants to discuss something. Maybe he's decided to answer my questions about how to make Takaran weapons. I can't think of anything else we've discussed that would need to be resolved in private. It's funny, I spent so much time trying to learn how to do make Takaran weapons, and now that I've finally found someone who can teach me, I feel nothing. No excitement, no curiosity, not even a sense of accomplishment. It just doesn't matter, anymore.

Evening

I don't believe for a second that Vincent had arranged art lessons with Ishmael. He hardly would have planned for them to start in the middle of dinner, for one thing. So why is Ishmael doing this? He's only been in Amber for a few days. He must have better things to do with his time than spend time teaching three teenage boys. Hopefully, I'll find out the answer to that tomorrow. I was too grateful for the distraction he provided for the boys to protest his appearance tonight. Gods help me, I'm running out of ideas. The only time the boys had any respect for my authority was when I turned them into stone, and I just don't have the heart to keep doing things like that to them. Especially not after seeing the effect it had on Ana.

Nothing. I put everything I had into one last try, one final attempt, and got...nothing. No answer. This is driving me insane. Is he gone, or just somewhere Trump won't reach? I need to know. I can't stand this uncertainty. How am I supposed to cope with this and move on when I don't even know yet what I need to cope with?

Amber, year 16, day 255, (Wednesday, August 23, 2994)

Early morning

Even the scant peace I find in my wine has deserted me tonight. It seems I have reached the limits of what this body can endure. Liver poisoning. It is no more than I deserve. Even the pain is better than the emptiness that haunts me at night. Anything is better than that.

Morning

Ishmael is willing to begin teaching me how one makes Takaran weapons, even if he's not sure I'm ready for it. Provided I eat and stop drinking. How does he know about that? How many people has Jalana been talking to, anyway? I eventually agreed to his terms, but it was a near thing. I'm still not sure how I can do it. I'm not worried about the eating requirement. I've been trying to do that already, for Jalana's sake. But I can barely stand the nights when I do drink. Without the alcohol to numb the pain...I don't know how I'm going to bear it. I'll just have to find other means. I'm a doctor, after all. I know of any number of substances that can accomplish the same effect as the wine. Well, at least in a human. In this body, who knows?

The interesting fact is that Ishmael learned how to make Takaran metal from Nicholas. Who did Nicholas learn it from, I wonder? Miranda? Ishmael had heard of her, but says she's working for Zane. I still feel badly about her situation. She's been trapped in Chaos for a century now, because we couldn't manage to find her quickly enough. I'm sure she wishes she'd never seen Usires, or his ax. I wish there was some way to free her. Assuming that, after 100 years, she hasn't become a willing partner of Zane's.

Ishmael must think me a truly horrible parent if, after only knowing me a few days, he feels it necessary to assume the task of teaching the boys discipline. Someone who's virtually a stranger doesn't offer to step in like this unless he thinks the situation is too bad to be ignored. I fear he's right. The boys obviously prefer his company to mine. Even Jalana thinks I'm terrible for leaving them to bring Nicholas back from Chaos. What kind of mother would leave her own children like that, especially without knowing where their father is, or if he's ever coming back? They'd be better off with someone else. But I would hurt them even more if I left. Gods, it seems I'm damned no matter what I do.

I'm not sure what I expected from my meeting with Nicholas. I guess I hoped for reassurance that Brand will pay for what he did. I suppose I got that. Nicholas said Brand will be dealt with. But not until after the coronation. Which is weeks away. Eral knows what could happen between now and then. I'm sure something will. It always does. I believe Nicholas wants to punish Brand. I just don't have any faith in it happening. And even if it does, what punishment can possibly make up for his stealing my child from me? I don't think anything can. Just like I don't think anything can stop him from hurting me or my family again, while he lives.

That's the only part of the meeting that went like I expected, though. I certainly wasn't expecting Nicholas to question my sanity. Eric told him that he thinks I'm insane. Why? Because I wanted to remain in Chaos to look for my son? Because I can't bring myself to care if I live or die anymore? Maybe I am insane. I'm not sure of anything, right now. But I'd have to be insane to allow Fiona, or anyone else, into my mind. I won't go through that ever again. I'll die first. Why the hell should I have to submit to Fiona's tender ministrations, when Brand does not?

I was hoping that I could talk to Lavender, hoping she'd at least tell me if I'm crazy or not. But she's working on the Ygg replanting. I suppose I was expecting that, but I couldn't think of anyone else to turn to. I'm glad Driscoll insisted on talking to me. I almost felt like myself again, if only for a little while. It helps a lot to know that I'm not the only one who's felt this way, that there's nothing wrong with me because of how I'm reacting. That someday, the pain will fade. If he survived the death of his wife, then maybe I can survive the loss of my son. And the rest of it. Somehow. Even if I have to take it one day, one hour, at a time. What other choice do I have?

"Outrageous Fortune"
Ariana's Page | Ariana's Diaries
Other PC Diaries and Contributions

All text on this page is © 1997 by Kris Fazzari.

Last modified on August 29, 1997 by Kris Fazzari.