Changer (Athanor)

by Jane Lindskold

  “I thought that the absence of a certain person might haunt the hacienda.”

  “You mean the Changer?”

  “Yes.”

  “I told you…”

  “I saw your expression at the lunch table. Anyone with less self-control would have shouted aloud in protest. You managed to keep silent, but I saw, just as I saw your eagerness when you thought that you might have excuse to visit him.”

  “I…”

  “Why do you so struggle to deny it, Vera? The Changer is a powerful entity and, whatever his shape, he is all male. I knew your father. There are certain similarities.”

  “Are you saying I’m looking for a father figure!”

  “I am not. What I am saying is that often we are attracted to those who possess qualities we have admired in others.”

  “I did not precisely admire my father.”

  “You did not admire his womanizing, but you must admit that there was much to admire otherwise.”

  “I cannot deny that.” Vera crosses her arms over her breasts and frowns. “Why are you harping on this? Let us hypothetically say that I am attracted to the Changer.”

  “Hypothetically.”

  “What would I do? He is happiest as an animal. I am human-form and have always been so. I cannot be a raven or a wolf or a coyote. I am a woman—a woman of many appearances, true, but just a woman.”

  Amphitrite nods. “That is a difficulty. However, unless you broach the subject, he will not even consider it.”

  “Am I so unappealing?” Vera looks sad. “It has been long since any paid me court.”

  “How long since you invited it?” Amphitrite counters. “Among our people, your celibate status is accepted. Even the great womanizers have given up the conquest.”

  Remembering a few long-ago courtships, Vera manages a smile.

  “And,” Amphitrite continues, “you do not mingle much with human folk. Look at you now—living in this hacienda with two of the great misogynists of our people.”

  “Eddie likes women!”

  “I meant Arthur and Lovern. Perhaps misogynist is too strong a term, but neither of them has had the greatest luck with their womenfolk.”

  “They don’t trust those of our kind—not after what happened between Louhi and Lovern.”

  “Huh! I think he deserved it. He flaunted his power. She merely turned the tables.”

  “Whatever. Are you saying that if I want the Changer to consider me, I should start courting him?”

  “Yes. And be prepared for potential rejection and a reawakening of interest by many of our own people.”

  “I’m not sure… If I thought… Then…” Vera gnaws thoughtfully on one pinky nail.

  “So come to South America with me,” Amphitrite prompts. “You’ll have time to think and the comfort of distance.”

  “Comfort?”

  “On another continent you won’t be thinking up excuses to go up into the Sandias.”

  Vera blushes. “I had been thinking I hadn’t ridden on the Tram for a long time.”

  “Exactly. Give yourself some space. You may find out that this is just pheromones run wild. Or you may decide that the potential gain is worth the risk.”

  Vera logs off her computer. “When are you leaving?”

  “Tomorrow. Lovern’s shapechanging magic has a time limit.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “The Changer leaves tonight. Nothing is to be gained by staying here.”

  “Tomorrow.” Vera nods sharply. “Very well. Tell your escort I’m going along. I’ll tell Arthur and Eddie. Anson is staying for a while longer. He can help cover my jobs.”

  Amphitrite smiles a perfect, pearly smile. “Thank you!”

  Vera rises to see her to the door. “Thank you, Amphitrite. Thank you.”

  When the door closes behind the Queen of the Sea, Vera glances around her comfortable office. Somewhere outside, Shahrazad yips. She restrains an urge to go out and check if the Changer is with his daughter. Amphitrite is right. She does need to confront her feelings—at least to herself.

  Maybe even to someone else.

  16

  Ogni debole ha sempre il suo tiranno.

  (Every weakling has his tyrant.)

  —Italian proverb

  That evening, with as little ceremony as when they had arrived, the Changer and Shahrazad prepare to depart Arthur’s hacienda. Shahrazad is at least richer by a name; the Changer has gained only a host of troubling conjectures and a few outfits.

  “If you don’t mind,” he says to Arthur, “I’ll leave all the clothes here except for the stuff I’m wearing.”

  “No trouble at all, my good fellow,” Arthur responds. “We have lots of closets. Why don’t you stash your things in the guest room you were using?”

  The Changer nods. He has already done so. The clothes he wears are simple: jeans, a lightweight shirt, socks, and sandals. One pocket of the jeans holds a folded plastic bag, another some money.

  “Why don’t you wait for me in the front foyer?” Arthur suggests. “I’ll go pull the van around.”

  As soon as the Changer enters the foyer, Shahrazad trailing at his heels aware that some adventure is about to begin, Amphitrite drifts in to join them.

  “Have a good time, brother.”

  “Thank you.”

  She kneels and rubs Shahrazad behind her ears. “And you be good, little one.”

  Shahrazad wags her tail enthusiastically.

  “And don’t forget your aunt.”

  The Changer frowns. “That is precisely what I am hoping she will do. Despite my best efforts, she is too tame.”

  Amphitrite rises, light as sea-foam on a wave. “Perhaps she is clever enough to know enemy from friend.”

  “Then she is smarter than most of us.”

  “True.”

  They share a laugh. The thump of crutches is heard, and Eddie comes in to join them. His leg is healing nicely, but he is being careful with it. The only thing worse than a broken leg is an eternal limp from a badly healed break. The Smith knows this and warned Eddie during his visit. It has been millennia since the fall that shattered his leg and hip, and he still limps.

  “Ready to head out, Changer?”

  “I am.”

  “I’m sorry we didn’t learn who killed your family.”

  “So am I.”

  “I hope that the visit was not a complete waste of time.”

  “Not at all. I learned who did not do it. That narrows the field somewhat.”

  “Than you are not giving up?”

  “No.”

  Anson slides down the banister and bounces lightly when he lands. “You didn’t expect him to, now, did you? He’s not one to forget a wrong—at least not a wrong so large.”

  The Changer only smiles politely, but something in his yellow eyes glints agreement.

  “What are you doing next, sister?” he asks Amphitrite, pointedly turning the conversation from himself.

  “Going to South America with Vera and Lovern. I want to see these rain forests and mountains and endangered creatures.”

  “Ah.”

  Anson briskly rubs his long-fingered hands together. “And if South America is not enough, Lady Queen, give me a call and I’ll take you to Africa. You want to see problems? There I can show you problems!”

  Amphitrite smiles at his enthusiasm but doesn’t overlook the sorrow in his dark brown eyes. “I would if I could, Sir Spider, but my magical lease on legs will not last much longer. I’ve used ten days already. This will be a quick trip.”

  “The offer stands. Perhaps another day, eh?”

  Through the nearly opaque panels bordering the front window, they see the van pull up.

  “There’s your ride, Changer,” Anson says, offering his hand. “Good luck.”

  “Thank you.”

  The Changer shakes hands all around and, with a glance commanding Shahrazad to follow, departs. As he watches the van pull away, Eddie comments, “I wonder if he noti
ced that Lovern didn’t see him off?”

  “Or Vera,” Anson adds.

  “He noticed,” Amphitrite assures them. “What I wonder is if he cared.”

  Unlike the Sangre de Cristos farther north, the western face of the Sandia Mountains is largely without plant cover. Even in the height of summer, grey stone is visible. The Sandias’ height is frequently underestimated. So round, so stony, so barren, the mountains seem intimate, but in reality they crest five thousand feet above Albuquerque. As Albuquerque is situated at five thousand feet, the Sandias are no small mountains.

  Arthur steers the van easily through traffic.

  “Are you certain that you want to go here?” he asks. “The city now ends practically at the base of the mountain.”

  “The mountain itself is Forest Service land,” the Changer reminds him, “and the Sandia Indian reservation claims still more. Plenty of room to support two more coyotes.”

  “How shall I contact you if there is news?”

  “Mark well where you drop us off. I will return there every other day. If you would leave me a message, leave it there.”

  “Will you and Shahrazad be safe so near the road?”

  The Changer’s smile is almost mocking. “Why should we stay near? I can take a swifter shape and cover distance quickly. Shahrazad will remain in whatever grounds we claim.”

  “Quite. I overlooked that possibility.”

  Without further conversation—on Arthur’s part because he is a little miffed at having been taken so lightly—on the Changer’s because he has nothing more to say—they go on. Arthur concentrates on taking the van up the twisting road toward the crest, the Changer on watching.

  “Up ahead will do,” the Changer says at last. “There, where there is a wide spot on the shoulder of the road.”

  Arthur does so and the Changer grunts satisfaction. When the van stops, he opens the door and Shahrazad leaps out.

  “Don’t stray,” he calls after her. Immediately, she slows and begins sniffing the roadside debris.

  “Thank you,” the Changer says to the King, extending his hand. “You will know where to leave a message?”

  “I have noted the mile markers,” Arthur says, accepting the handclasp, “and I will make other notes when I leave.”

  “Good. If you want me quickly, tell me so.”

  “I will.”

  The Changer nods farewell. Arthur watches, sees the two step into the evergreen forest. Then the shadows swallow them and even his ancient eyes can see them no longer.

  Rebecca>> He said Yes! He said Yes!!

  Demetrios>> He? who? what?

  Loverboy>> “Yes” is my favorite word!

  Rebecca>> Bronson said we can go to Albuquerque!!!

  Demetrios>> That’s great!! I think we’ll have at least a dozen attending. I’ve been talking to some of the other fauns, and at least two want to give it a shot.

  Loverboy>> Fuzzy lady, is the hubby coming with you??

  Rebecca>> Two other fauns! Great! And I know that the Olsens are coming and some yeti cousins of ours who emigrated to Alaska ages ago and us, and, of course, the tengu.

  Demetrios>> I wonder if Frank MacDonald would come?

  Loverboy>> Why Saint Frank? He’s human-form.

  Demetrios>> But he is sympathetic to the plight of athanor animals. They have, if possible, less say than we do.

  Rebecca>> Yes, Loverboy. Bronson is coming. Demi, I like Frank. Shouldn’t the Moderator be responsible for invitations like that? I mean, isn’t this his project?

  Loverboy>> :( Fuzzy lady’s hubby is coming! Where’s the fun for me? Will Arthur let us get near the human babes?

  Demetrios>> Maybe the Moderator should talk to Frank. Who is he anyhow? I’ve been trying to figure it out.

  Rebecca>> That’s not polite.

  Demetrios>> Satyr, don’t you ever think of something other than babes?

  Loverboy>> Who cares about stuff like the Moderator and the guest list? We’re gonna have a PARTY!!

  Demetrios>> Sweet Springtime! I wish we could leave you!

  Loverboy>> Can’t buddy! I’ve got my invite, too. And you’re not the only one who’s bringing friends!

  Demetrios>> Oh, no!

  Loverboy>> We’re all gonna have a party!

  Very early on the morning after the Changer and Shahrazad have returned to the wilds, Arthur and Eddie drive Amphitrite, Lovern, and Vera to the Albuquerque International Airport.

  “What is your destination?” Arthur asks.

  “Belém, Brazil.”

  “Belém?”

  “A coastal city of a million or so on the Atlantic Ocean,” Vera clarifies. “It isn’t far from the mouth of the Amazon.”

  “Reasonable.”

  When they enter the airport, the three members of the South American contingent are waiting near the ticket counters. Isidro and Cleonice are as poised and darkly patrician as ever. Oswaldo, as always, has a book held loosely in one hand.

  They greet Arthur and Eddie with brisk American-style handshakes and welcome the other three more warmly.

  “Our jet is fueled so we can depart immediately,” Cleonice says. “I’ll pilot first, then Isidro will relieve me.”

  “I guess that’s a hint we should be leaving,” Lovern says, setting down his bag to shake Arthur’s hand. “We should see you in a week or so.”

  “Have a good trip. Be safe,” Arthur answers.

  He hugs Vera and then, after a moment’s hesitation, Amphitrite.

  “Don’t overwork Eddie,” Vera warns.

  “I won’t.”

  “And I won’t let him,” Eddie chuckles.

  “And you both come to visit my husband and me,” Amphitrite says. “You have been too long a stranger to a greater part of the planet.”

  “We will,” Arthur promises.

  When good-byes are finished, the travelers walk briskly to a gate reserved for private departures. Isidro insists on carrying Amphitrite’s bag. At a glare from him, Oswaldo reluctantly shoves his book under one arm and takes Vera’s light carry-on. Lovern is permitted to tow his own suitcase (by far the largest of the three pieces of luggage) himself.

  Seats on the plane are roomy and comfortable. Each of the visitors is offered a window seat, but Lovern, sensitive to his responsibility for Amphitrite’s safety, forgoes the honor and seats himself next to the Sea Queen.

  Isidro seats himself next to Vera. Oswaldo happily takes the seat behind Amphitrite. His book is open almost before he has his seat belt buckled. Cleonice vanishes into the cockpit, where she can be heard running preflight checks.

  “Well, this is much more comfortable than the commercial airlines,” Lovern says appreciatively.

  “It is indeed,” Isidro agrees. “I am surprised that Arthur does not maintain a jet of his own.”

  “He considers it a waste of money with the airport right here,” Vera explains. “These days, the commercial airlines can serve his needs.”

  “I suppose they would be sufficient” Isidro says acidly, “since all the world comes to his humble door.”

  Vera frowns. Isidro smiles ingratiatingly and explains: “In our poor third world nation, we need a jet to reach the ‘first world’ nations with any convenience. We also maintain a smaller plane for intracontinental flights. That is what we will use to take you on your tour tomorrow.”

  “Good,” Amphitrite says, turning from watching the bustling ground crews. “I have been worried about Lovern’s spell expiring before I can see your continent’s beauties.”

  “We have kept that in mind,” Isidro promises.

  With solid thuds, the jet’s outer doors are closed. Two short, broad-chested, brown-skinned, dark-haired people—a man and a woman—come walking back and take seats.

  “These are part of our flight crew,” Isidro explains, “Rahua and Manco. They are of Inca descent, adapted by centuries of evolution to high altitudes. Our copilots are also Inca.”

  “Hello,” Vera says, pleasantly.
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  “Neither of them speak English very well,” Isidro says. “Spanish and Portuguese are more immediately useful, though we are teaching them English as well.”

  “¡Hola! ¿Como está?” Vera says.

  “Bien,” Rahua answers shyly. Hawk-nosed Manco only nods with a touch of hauteur.

  Cleonice comes on the radio, asking them to prepare for takeoff. When the plane has reached cruising altitude, Rahua and Manco bring out a selection of juices, fresh fruit, and pastries.

  “We will serve a more substantial lunch later,” Isidro says. “Would anyone care for coffee? We have some fine Colombian.”

  “I would,” Amphitrite says. She has been staring out the window at the unfolding panorama of brown land. “I believe that hot drinks are the one thing I will miss about land living when I return to the ocean.”

  Lovern smiles. “I felt much the same when I resided in your palace, lady.”

  As they enjoy breakfast, Isidro begins what clearly is a lecture. His dark eyes are brilliant with passion, his voice that of a trained orator.

  “The continent called South America is the proud possessor of the biggest river, the longest mountain range, the driest desert, and the largest forest in the world. The continent holds the greatest variety of life-forms on any landmass. It blends the cultures of several European nations with the remnants of many Indian cultures—at least one of whom, the Inca, built to rival the pyramids of Egypt.

  “Yet when the wonders of the world are spoken of, no one mentions South America. The Nile is a poor second to the Amazon, but is spoken of in greater awe.”

  Lovern mutters, “I don’t think that’s precisely true.”

  Ignoring him, Isidro sweeps on. “Elephants and giraffes are certainly marvelous, but the capybara and rhea are as wonderful. The last of the dinosaurs still walk our land: caiman alligators, anacondas, and, within human memory, the doedicurus. Jaguars and other exotic cats prowl the jungles, gigantic fish and electric eels fill our waters, but South America remains forgotten.”

  Vera nibbles on the edge of a cherry-filled Danish. “In any case, I wouldn’t think you would want people to know more of your wonders. Wouldn’t that encourage immigration and exploitation? If you want an unspoiled continent, anonymity is your greatest ally.”