The Chronicles of Amber by Roger Zelazny

own, when I realized what her statements implied.
    “You know,” I began, “when you called the other day and I answered the phone because Flora was out, I’ve a strong feeling she was trying to make it to Amber, and that she found the way blocked.”
    At this, he laughed.
    “The woman has very little imagination,” he replied. “Of course it would be blocked at a time like this. Ultimately, we’ll be reduced to walking, I’m sure, and it will doubtless take all of our strength and ingenuity to make it, if we make it at all. Did she think she could walk back like a princess in state, treading on flowers the whole way? She’s a dumb bitch. She doesn’t really deserve to live, but that’s not for me to say, yet.”
    “Turn right at the crossroads,” he decided.
    What was happening? I knew he was in some way responsible for the exotic changes going on about us, but I couldn’t determine how he was doing it, where he was getting us to. I knew I had to learn his secret, but I couldn’t just ask him or he’d know I didn’t know. Then I’d be at his mercy. He seemed to do nothing but smoke and stare, but coming up out of a dip in the road we entered a blue desert and the sun was now pink above our heads within the shimmering sky. In the rear-view mirror, miles and miles of desert stretched out behind us, for as far as I could see. Neat trick, that.
    Then the engine coughed, sputtered, steadied itself, repeated the performance. The steering wheel changed shape beneath my hands. It became a crescent; and the seat seemed further back, the car seemed closer to the road, and the windshield had more of a slant to it.
    I said nothing, though, not even when the lavender sandstorm struck us. But when it cleared away, I gasped. There was a godawful line of cars all jammed up, about half a mile before us. They were all standing still and I could hear their horns.
    “Slow down,” he said. “It’s the first obstacle.”
    I did. and another grist of sand swept over us.
    Before I could switch on the lights, it was gone, and I blinked my eyes several times. All the cars were gone and silent their horns. But the roadway sparkled now as the sidewalks had for a time, and I heard Random damning someone or something under his breath.
    “I’m sure I shifted just the way he wanted us to, whoever set up that block,” he said. “and it pisses me off that I did what he expected—the obvious.”
    “Eric?” I asked,
    “Probably. What do you think we should do? Stop and try it the hard way for a while, or go on and see if there are more blocks?”
    “Let’s go on a bit. After all, that was only the first.”
    “Okay.” he said, but added, “who knows what the second will be?”
    The second was a thing—I don’t know how else to describe it.
    It was a thing that looked like a smelter with arms, squatting in the middle of the road, reaching down and picking up cars, eating them.
    I hit the brakes.
    “What’s the matter?” Random asked. “Keep going. How else can we get past them?”
    “It shook me a bit,” I said, and he gave me a strange, sidelong look as another dust storm came up. It had been the wrong thing to say, I knew. When the dust cleared away, we were racing along an empty road once more. And there were towers in the distance.
    “I think I’ve screwed him up.” said Random. “I combined several into one, and I think it may be one he hasn’t anticipated. After all, no one can cover all roads to Amber.”
    “True,” I said, hoping to redeem myself from whatever faux pas had drawn that strange look.
    I considered Random. A little, weak looking guy who could have died as easily as I on the previous evening. What was his power? And what was all this talk of Shadows? Something told me that whatever Shadows were, we moved among them even now. How? It was something Random was doing, and since he seemed at rest physically, his hands in plain sight, I decided it was something he did with his mind. Again, how?