by A. M. Burns
“No, like I said, it’s never been discussed. What if I steal Trey’s form and he turns into me? Then he would be out there at the ranch, possibly trying to ride wild horses, and suddenly be someone else.” He sat up and looked at her. “Perhaps if I try to turn into a white woman first, it would be different enough from a man that I could tell the difference.”
Sarah’s hazel eyes grew wide. “And who would you think to change into?”
Gray Talon didn’t reply. He closed his eyes and brought the image to his mind just like he would if he were shifting to an animal form. The energy of the change washed over him. His body rearranged. There wasn’t the momentary disjointed feeling as there was when he changed normally. His basic form was still the same, but there were differences.
“Son of a bitch!” Sarah shouted, and before he could open his eyes, a blanket hit him in the head. “Change back right now!”
He opened his eyes and glanced down. “What? Didn’t it work right? It feels like it worked right.” His skin was pale and looked soft.
“Don’t you look further down there until you’ve changed back!” She glared at him. “And don’t you dare touch anything.” She shuddered.
Gray Talon looked at her and fought to hide the humor he wanted to express. “But you told me to change into a white woman. It looks like that’s what happened.”
“I didn’t tell you to change into me! Now change back.”
Taking a deep breath, Gray Talon remembered what his own body felt like, and the energy of the change reversed. When he opened his eyes, Sarah was still glaring at him.
“So what happens to your clothes when you change?” she asked, regaining some of her normal composure.
“That’s part of the magic,” he explained. “They go away. They’d be really confining when I change into an eagle or bear.”
“Right, but you changed into me and you were naked.”
He shrugged. “Well, a change is a change, so I guess it doesn’t matter if it’s animal or human. My clothes go away. But we know I can do it, and we know that the person I’m changing into won’t notice.”
“Unless they’re standing right in front of you.”
“Correct. So, then, we’re left with what to do about clothes. If I’m going to be downstairs having dinner at the same time as you, then I cannot become Trey. Dabinshire and McNair know what he looks like, and it will raise suspicions. We’ll need to get me suitable clothes for the form I use.” He got up and walked over to the mirror. He tried to imagine what he would look like with Trey’s long, soft, blond hair. As he ran his hand through his own rough black hair, a tingle ran through him, and it changed to the golden color he so loved on his partner.
“Hey, now that’s interesting,” Sarah said, looking in the mirror with him. “So do you think you could fashion a whole ’nother body for yourself like that?”
He held the long blond hair out and stared at it. It felt just like Trey’s hair in his fingers. “I don’t know. I suppose it’s possible. I might be able to alter mine just enough that no one will suspect I’m Comanche.” Strange thoughts ran through Gray Talon’s mind. He wished Trey were there to talk to, or his mother, or even Singing Crow. If I can change into other people, what am I becoming?
“Then all we need to do is go down and do a bit of shopping,” Sarah rattled on. “With the right clothes, no one will be the wiser.”
Remembering her fun at playing dress-up with Trey after they received the bounty for the outlaws, Gray Talon sighed. It was going to be a long afternoon.
26
TREY’S FEET touched the sand of the corral, and the black mare looked at him with sad, tired eyes. Sweat glistened on her flanks from his first ride. He was breathing hard and ready to go get some dinner so he could relax for the evening. Most of the other ranch hands perched on the fence to watch him work the two mares he’d broken that afternoon after riding the stallion around the corral again for a little while.
The door to McNair’s workshop flew open. “I need a hand in here!” the man shouted.
“Come on, guys, we’d better hurry.” Josh dropped off the fence. “He’s in a bad mood today.”
Trey jumped the fence and joined the men running toward the workshop. He wondered what kind of thing McNair needed help with. Ever since he’d listened in on the conversation between Dabinshire and the earth mage, he’d tried to stay clear of the workshop. He needed more information before he was ready to take McNair on, and knowing that the mage was unstable didn’t help his concerns one bit. Hopefully the alarm set to spot natives wouldn’t go off when he entered the workshop.
Gaslights illuminated the large space. The smell of hot metal filled the room. The familiar tang of magic saturated the air. Several large workbenches dominated the space. What looked to be the torsos of five metal men leaned at odd angles, like dominos that had fallen against one another.
“I need help getting these stood back up!” McNair shouted. “Damn day just isn’t going right at all.”
“Where do you want them, sir?” Charlie asked.
“Right where they are,” McNair snarled. “Just get them standing upright. They will all have to move at the same time. Otherwise I’d do it myself.”
Trey moved to the middle one, so he’d be obscured by Josh and another hand. He’d touched Copperpot, so he knew what the metal men felt like, but this one didn’t have the same energy to it that his friend did. There was an emptiness about it. This torso hadn’t received its power source yet. There was no soul.
“All right, guys, everyone at the same time, and try not to drag them across each other,” McNair orchestrated. “I don’t have time to go back and make repairs to them. One… two… three.”
The ranch hands lifted the appendageless copper torsos up. They were heavy, but not as heavy as if they had been finished. Recalling his earlier eavesdropping, Trey had an idea. McNair couldn’t see auras. With a simple thought, he left a tiny piece of his in a crack on the torsos he’d moved. He’d be able to recall that piece later and see what happened. He’d done it before when hunting, leave little pieces of his aura around an area to find out where the animals were. Maybe if he saw how the soul got into the metal casing, then he’d be able to figure out how to free Copperpot’s. But from what he observed, a lot of McNair’s magic ended up blocking access to memory and even free thought.
“That’s good,” McNair said. “Thank you, guys. You can go back to the horses, cows, or whatever else it was that you’ve been working with today.”
The men all turned and hurried out of the workshop. Nobody said a word until McNair closed the door behind them.
“God, I’m glad it was quick and simple this time,” Josh sighed.
“This isn’t the first time you guys have had to go help?” Trey asked.
“Lord, no,” Josh replied. “And let me tell you, that place gives me the creeps. Why anyone would want to spend so much time working with things like that is beyond me. But I guess as long as they stay as heavy as they are, we don’t need to worry about them replacing cowboys. Not a horse alive could carry the weight of those things.” Trey knew from Copperpot that a horse didn’t need to carry them. They were perfectly capable of keeping up with horses in all but the fastest gait.
“So he builds those things all by himself?” Trey asked, wanting to sound like he didn’t already know the answer.
“Except when there’s an accident or something like just now. Then he calls for help. Why he can’t just get the other ones he’s made to help him is beyond me. Maybe they ain’t smart enough for something like that. I mean, they can lift things and all, but could they do it without scratching each other? Or maybe they don’t like touching the partially finished ones.”
“Now you make it sound like they can think or something, Josh,” Charlie chimed in as they got back to the corral fence. “Everyone knows those things ain’t nothing but fancy clockworks. They can’t think and feel. They’re dumber than most injuns.”
Tr
ey fought the urge to say something, but just held his tongue and listened.
“Well, I think they’re an abomination,” Josh said. “I know our preacher back in Georgia would say that McNair is consorting with the devil himself, making things that look that much like good people. It ain’t right.”
“Right or not, I think it’s probably the future of things around here,” Charlie said. “If you don’t like it, you can just head back to Georgia.”
“Hey. Come on, Charlie. Don’t be like that,” Josh whined.
“Then be careful what you say about things around here. We don’t need no devil showing up and palling around with McNair. The boss pays us well, and he wouldn’t be able to do that without McNair here to help make him more money.”
“Okay, Charlie, okay,” Josh relented. “I’ll watch the God talk. But he still creeps me out.”
“It creeps me out too, but I don’t talk about it.” He turned to Trey. “That goes for you too, got it?”
“Got it.”
27
IT WAS hard for Gray Talon to lose the natural grace he’d been born with. Sarah had told him that even appearing white, he still moved like a Comanche. She’d spent an hour after they’d returned to the hotel with clothes showing him how to move more clumsily. Finally it had been late enough that she had to leave to meet Walfred. Gray Talon waited a couple of minutes before he followed. As far as the clothes went, the boots were the most uncomfortable thing in his new ensemble. They were tight around his feet. How do cowboys wear these things? They were also harder to walk in. The simple act of walking in them erased most of his normal fluidity. Halfway down the stairs to the dining room, he was ready to take them off and just go the rest of the way barefoot.
He entered the dining room and immediately spotted Sarah sitting with Daphne and the men. They were already deep in discussion. He walked over to the table next to theirs, which happened to be the only table that was empty in the place. Moments later the bartender came over.
“How can I help you?”
“What have you got for dinner tonight?” Gray Talon asked.
“We’ve got lamb or pork roast,” the man replied, then looked uneasily toward the kitchen door. “To tell the truth, the lamb is better.”
Gray Talon grinned. The short brown beard on his face felt as odd as he did. “I’ll have the lamb, then. Bring me a sarsaparilla too.”
“We just got a fresh stock of Mountain Brew in yesterday, if you’d prefer.”
“Nah, just the sarsaparilla.” Gray Talon had tried the white’s beer once when some of the warriors had gotten some from an ambushed wagon train. The stuff was awful, and he had no urge to ever try it again. Trey agreed with him on the assessment.
“Be out in a few minutes,” the bartender replied.
A fair amount of noise engulfed the dining room. Gray Talon pretended to watch the men playing cards on the table just beyond the one where Sarah and company sat. He could barely make out what was being said at her table, but at least he wasn’t staring at them.
“Mr. McNair,” Walfred huffed. “I appreciate your apology, sir, but I need assurances that your performance will not be repeated and your prejudices won’t get in the way of our business dealing. Back in New York, the natives are gaining in popularity, and very few people take the time to ridicule them anymore. They are even requested visitors in some of the royal houses in Europe. If your metal men are to take off the way I can see that they might, you may have to share the same room with one from time to time, and we can’t have you attacking them just because you used to be at war with them. We are civilized men.”
“We all understand that, Cornelius. Don’t we, Justin,” Dabinshire said a little forcefully.
“Yes,” McNair snapped.
“Well, you know, that was the trend I noticed before I left Illinois,” Sarah said. “More of the natives… I can’t even recall what tribe they were, but they were settling into our town and acting just like everyone else. It was quite amazing to see.”
“You’re at our table,” a deep voice said from behind Gray Talon.
He turned and looked up at three very large men in denim shirts and large cowboy hats. “I’m sorry. There was no one here when I sat down.”
“We always sit at this table,” the man growled.
“I don’t want to cause any trouble, but this is the last table, and I have already ordered my food. Perhaps if you’d like to share the table, there’s more than enough room for you gentlemen.”
“We have more friends coming, and this is our table,” one of the men behind him said.
Gray Talon realized all the other conversation in the room had stopped, and people were looking their way. “Perhaps—” A large hand landed on the collar of his new shirt, and someone hauled him out of the chair. The rudeness of whites knows no bounds, he thought as he swung his elbow around into the man’s face. The man roared and released Gray Talon, but his friends charged in.
He ducked as one man swung hard at his head. After spending a good part of his teen years fighting and wrestling with the other boys of the tribe as they all grew into men, Gray Talon knew how to fight. He even knew how to fight multiple opponents in close quarters. But this was going to disrupt him being able to listen in and back up Sarah if need be. He dove under the table to avoid being grabbed by the first man. As he came up, he noticed that Sarah and the others at her table had risen and were backing away. She had a worried look on her face, but he only smiled as he dove across the table and hit the first man again. His fist caught the man’s nose, and blood sprayed out along with the reek of stale beer.
One of the man’s friends landed a heavy blow on Gray Talon’s shoulder, driving him hard to the floor. He gasped for breath as he struggled to roll out of the way.
“You guys stop this right now!” The bartender’s voice carried through the room.
Another of the men managed to get a hand on Gray Talon and lifted him off the floor long enough to slam him back into it. Then he remembered the small new boot knife he’d bought. As he struggled to stand up, he reached for the handle and yanked the knife out just in time to drive it deeply into the palm of the man who was trying to pick him up again. The man screamed and the big hands retreated.
“You sorry son of a bitch,” the first man said, still holding his bleeding nose.
“I said stop this right now!” the bartender repeated. This time there was also the sound of a rifle being cocked.
“I didn’t want no trouble,” Gray Talon shouted but stayed in his crouch with the small knife held out in front of him.
“Well, you found it.” The uninjured of the three came at Gray Talon from the side.
Gray Talon tried to block, but fire shot through his shoulder seconds before the man connected. The bullet from the bartender’s rifle hit as the gunfire rocked the room. Momentum carried both men down to the hard floor. Gray Talon’s head banged hard against the planks, and he saw stars at the same time the world spun.
“Oh my God, it’s an injun!” someone screamed.
“It can’t be. He was as white as any of us,” someone else shouted.
Then something hard caught Gray Talon in the head, and darkness engulfed him.
28
“WHENEVER YOU are ready, Trey McAlister,” the spirit shaman said. “I’ll watch over you while you view what your aura has seen.”
Trey nodded. It seemed odd to him that none of the spiritual shamans had bothered to share their names with him, but then maybe they felt that since they were spirits, they were beyond names. Many tribes refused to speak the names of the dead for fear that it would hold them to the world above. Maybe these men held the same beliefs and were waiting for their opportunity to move on to their next lives. He’d returned to the underworld for their advice and help. He’d hoped that they would’ve been able to gather some much-needed information so they could all find a way to shut down the metal men and free Daphne. He’d also shared what he’d learned about McNair not bein
g able to see the magic he shaped.
With a steadying breath, he reached out for that tiny piece of himself that he’d left behind on the unfinished construct. He carefully pulled just a little of it back to him. If it hadn’t gotten the information he wanted, some of it needed to stay there until either there wasn’t enough left to do the job or he found out how McNair trapped the souls. As his aura reabsorbed the abandoned piece, images flashed through his mind. He saw McNair walking back and forth beside the constructs. The earth mage was chanting a strange tune. The langue was harsh, not like anything Trey’d ever heard before. From an ornate box, McNair drew something white. He held it up in front of him, and the volume of his chant increased. He was summoning something. Then Trey recognized the white object—a human tooth. Energy flowed from the tooth. It reached out to something beyond what the piece of aura could perceive. Moments later, while McNair continued his chanting, a spirit floated into view. A small bowl appeared, created by magic, in the earth mage’s hand. It was just like the bowl Trey had found inside Copperpot. The etching on it was clearer, but the symbols still unfamiliar.
Trey paused the memory and looked up at the shamans around him. “Have any of you ever seen a language like this?” He mentally projected the memory of the symbols to them.
“I believe they’re used in white man’s magic,” the largest Sioux said. “I met one of their shamans many years ago. He was not from the east, but from Europe. Actually it was England. He used symbols like that in some of his magic.”
“Do you know what they mean?” Trey asked.
The Sioux shook his head. “His magic was overly complex, much like the Navajo and their sand painting. I saw no need to learn anything of it.”
“Let’s see how this plays out,” Trey muttered as he continued the memory.
The spirit struggled against McNair, but he paid it no mind. Knowing that the mage couldn’t see magic, Trey figured he didn’t even realize the true level of torment he inflicted on the spirits as he bound them to the bowls. When the tooth dropped into the bowl, McNair’s magic sealed the bowl over, creating a glowing orb around it. The spirit struggled against the orb, but its translucent fist did no damage to the magical barrier that contained it. The earth mage carefully placed the bowl within the torso. The copper there responded to the man’s command and came up and joined with the bowl, linking it and the spirit to the metal frame. The spirit’s struggle died back until only the glow remained that would tell magic users that a spirit resided inside.
