Changer (Athanor)

by Jane Lindskold

  “Which means that you are in greater danger than I am.”

  “I expect so, but you are limited in the amount of time you will be mobile on land.”

  They sit in thoughtful silence for several moments. A pair of green-and-yellow-feathered macaws flash across the glade. In the distance, they can hear monkeys scolding and, faintly, something that may be the cough of a jaguar. After a time, Vera picks up the conversation as if there had been no interruption.

  “Staying here seems increasingly foolish. We make ourselves more vulnerable to both our enemies and to you being stranded when Lovern’s spell is exhausted.”

  “We could build a raft or a canoe and try our luck on the river,” Amphitrite suggests. “Even in this form, I swim well.”

  “I swim adequately, but there are piranhas and alligators in these waters.”

  “There are ants on the land—as well as jaguars. To avoid the water-dwelling menaces, we merely need to stay aboard. I’m not certain we would have such luck with the land-bound ones.”

  “No.” Vera wipes sweat from her face. “Do you know anything about making boats?”

  Amphitrite smiles. “Boats and I were born in the same age. I have always taken an interest in them. Did Isidro give us anything to make fire with?”

  Vera checks. “There are matches in the first-aid kit.”

  “We could make a dugout then, but perhaps a raft would be better. Let me take a look at what is growing in the vicinity.”

  “Do that. I’ll see what I can do about making us some weapons with more range than these machetes. Can you use a bow?”

  “No, but I can use a spear.”

  “Very well. The hammocks were wrapped with some cord. It isn’t exactly what I’d choose, but I think I can make a serviceable bowstring. Still, two spears would be my best start. We’ll need to make do with fire-hardened points. I’m not certain if the materials for chipped-stone heads will be available, and I certainly don’t have the sinew to lash them into place.”

  Amphitrite looks at her with wonder. “I had forgotten that Minerva was a goddess of war as well as wisdom.”

  “Damn straight,” Vera says, almost happily, “and Joan of Arc learned a trick or two from me as well. I may have been reserving my skills for self-defense, but I’m far from helpless.”

  Keeping a respectful distance from the thorns and toxic saps of the jungle plants, Amphitrite begins her survey. Humming under her breath, Vera builds a small fire, then cuts two lengths of wood and begins sharpening them.

  A plan, no matter how faint its chance of success, heartens both of them as waiting had not. For the first time, they even forget that anyone might be seeking to rescue them. Still, in the depths of her heart, Amphitrite feels the roar of the sea and knows that it rages for her.

  Things feel as if they are getting back to normal that morning at Arthur’s hacienda. The King comes down to the kitchen, dressed casually in khaki trousers and a cotton button-down shirt, and finds Eddie seated at the counter watching the news and eating a bowl of cold presweetened cereal. A cane, rather than crutches, leans against the stool alongside him.

  “Yuck,” Arthur comments, rooting in the refrigerator and coming up with a carton of vanilla yogurt. “Whose turn is it to grocery shop?”

  “Yours,” Eddie says without looking away from the television screen. “You don’t want the Spider grocery shopping. Trust me.”

  “I do. His appetite is phenomenal. I wonder how he keeps from getting fat?” Arthur pats his thickening waist morosely, then glances at the television. “What’s so absorbing?”

  “The weather report. There have been freak storms all through the North Atlantic, especially along the coast of Brazil. An unexpected tidal wave wiped out several fishing boats and at least one cruise liner.”

  “Damn!” Arthur stops stirring granola into his yogurt to watch the screen on which pictures of rescue operations are now being shown. “Duppy Jonah?”

  “I’m worried that it is. Have you checked your messages?”

  “I…” Arthur sighs. “No, I haven’t.

  “I think you had better. I checked mine. Nada.”

  Carrying his breakfast with him, Arthur goes into his office. The red light on his machine is blinking. He presses the button, bracing himself for the shrill voices of his tormentors. What he gets is far worse. A voice, deep and rumbling as waves beating on a rocky shore, growls:

  “Call me, damn you, Arthur! I want to know what Lovern did with my wife! I’ll try your private line. Call me.”

  The rest of the messages are perfectly mundane.

  “Duppy Jonah,” Eddie says, from the doorway into the office. “And he sounds very unhappy. Did he try your private line?”

  “I don’t know.” Arthur covers his embarrassment by chewing a spoonful of yogurt and granola. “I didn’t answer that one either. The office phone rang repeatedly last night.”

  “Might have been Duppy Jonah. Are you going to call him?”

  “As soon as I look up his number,” Arthur says. “I wonder what the hell has happened?”

  “Something to Amphitrite, apparently. If it’s any comfort, I doubt that she’s dead.”

  “I’d guessed that,” Arthur says, “or we’d have more problems than a few tidal waves.”

  “Right.”

  Arthur is reaching for the phone when it rings. Without hesitation, he picks up the receiver. Right now the pranksters would be a relief. He needs someone to chew out.

  “Pendragon Productions.”

  “Arthur?” The voice is unctuous. “This is Isidro Robelo.”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you seen the news this morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “This call is to claim responsibility for the catastrophe.”

  “You?”

  “Yes, Majesty. We have taken both Amphitrite and Vera. They are hidden where you will be unable to find them without our aid nor will they be returned to you unless you agree to put your full support behind our policies.”

  Arthur switches to intercom mode so that Eddie can listen.

  “Your policies?”

  “Yes. We want financial and magical support to preserve this continent and other places on the globe.”

  “I thought that this was discussed at the Review,” Arthur says, schooling his voice to neutral calm with centuries of experience. “A committee was formed to explore the best means of reaching those objectives.”

  “A committee!” Isidro makes the word sound like an obscenity. “We cannot wait for a committee to make recommendations.”

  “What makes you think that we will comply?” Arthur’s inflection leaves no doubt that the “we” is royal.

  “Vera and Amphitrite will remain our captives until you comply,” Isidro answers. “You must comply.”

  “You have not mentioned my wizard, Lovern. Does he live?”

  “He does, and we intend to return him to you as an indication of our good faith.”

  Arthur forces himself to chuckle derisively. “And perhaps because keeping a wizard captive is difficult?”

  “We can keep him. We did take him, and Oswaldo is an initiate of the craft.”

  “Return Lovern as you wish. I am neither accepting nor rejecting any of your offers.”

  Isidro clears his throat. “We have said we will return him to you. He will arrive this evening. Do not take this as a sign of weakness on our part.”

  “Certainly.” Arthur’s tone becomes friendly, his British accent more pronounced. “And, do tell me, have you considered the personal risk you are taking in holding Amphitrite?”

  “It is an acceptable risk.” Isidro’s words are firm, but Arthur thinks he hears a slight quaver.

  “I just wanted to make certain. I suppose we will speak later.”

  “And our terms?”

  “Really, Isidro. Are you trying to rush me?”

  “Vera and Amphitrite may not have much time.”

  “You should have thought of
that yourself, my good man. Good-bye.”

  Arthur hangs up the phone, glances over at Eddie, and grins weakly. “I hope I handled that right. Now I’d better call Duppy Jonah.”

  “Do.” Leaning heavily on his cane, Eddie limps towards his own office. “I’m going to review the e-mail and my messages to see if any word of this is out. I’ll wake Anson, too.”

  “No need to do that yet,” Arthur says, starting to punch in numbers. “We may need someone well rested later on.”

  “True.”

  The phone begins ringing, the sound distant and echoing, but the connection when it is at last answered is sharp and clear.

  “Yes?”

  “Arthur Pendragon, here. Is this Duppy Jonah?”

  The Sea King’s voice is deep and wild. “So you’ve returned my call at last.”

  “We’ve had some trouble with the phone lines,” Arthur fibs. “I stopped answering until it was straightened out. I’ve heard from Isidro Robelo.”

  “So have I.”

  “He has not only taken Amphitrite. He has also taken Vera.”

  “What is that to me?”

  “A relief? Your lady is not alone.”

  “And what of your precious wizard?”

  “He is being returned to me. According to Isidro, he will be back in Albuquerque by this evening.”

  “Alive?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “Pity. He will not live long thereafter.”

  “Duppy Jonah…”

  The Sea King interrupts. “The wizard has broken faith with me.”

  “You don’t know that. Even a wizard can be overwhelmed and held captive.”

  “Yes, I know.” This last is said grudgingly.

  “If Lovern lives, he may be a source of valuable information for us. Isidro spoke oddly—there was something in the way he spoke of the ladies that makes me wonder if he knew precisely where they were.”

  “Oh?”

  “Just a feeling. I want to interview Lovern, see if he knows anything.”

  “If you can trust what he says.”

  “I don’t think he will toy with me.”

  “You are too trusting, Arthur.”

  “Perhaps.” Arthur is relieved to hear that Duppy Jonah’s great voice no longer booms and crashes, only rumbles. “I was wondering if you would cease inciting the waves until we are certain that Amphitrite is indeed unfindable.”

  “Why? Those fools should think before toying with me!”

  “Innocent people are being hurt.”

  “They can stay off of my waters. It is not their element, it is mine!” The roar and crash returns. “Pity is not part of my nature. Ask the bones of the drowned dead if you doubt me.”

  “I do not, Duppy Jonah.”

  “Get me my wife or accept that I will mourn her in tempest, typhoon, and tsunami!”

  The connection goes dead. Arthur looks at the gluey mass of yogurt and granola sitting beside his phone. Somehow, he doesn’t have much of an appetite any longer.

  Slumped in a seat on the custom jet that has landed at Albuquerque airport, Lovern frets at his impotence. Wrists and ankles are encircled by tidy bands of cold iron concealed beneath his clothing. He suspects that there is more iron in the jaunty fedora Cleonice has just placed on his head.

  “We’re taking you from the plane to a van. The driver has instructions to drive directly to Arthur’s house. In case you are considering trying to work some vengeance on us, you should know that along with your food you swallowed a small charm that will make sorcery very difficult for you even when you have removed the iron jewelry you now wear.”

  Lovern cocks an eyebrow, trying hard to seem nonchalant. “You’ve gone to a great deal of trouble over this.”

  “We respect your power. We do not doubt that if we took fewer precautions, you could do us harm.”

  Lovern does not bother to disabuse her. Magical power is a much more fragile thing than the uninitiated would believe. He suspects that Oswaldo, the adept among the South American contingent, demanded these extremes in part to increase their respect for his own abilities.

  Manco calls to Cleonice in Quechua, the language of the Incas. “The silver bird is fueled. We can depart as soon as you get rid of the greybeard.”

  “Good,” Cleonice responds in the same language. Then in English. “Come with me, Lovern.”

  For a single moment he considers answering her in Quechua, then decides that he would be being childish. Why give her information that might, just might, come in useful later?

  Instead he mutely follows, shuffling slightly as if the iron on his ankles hurts him. Cleonice leaves him at the gate.

  “Your driver is over there,” she says, gesturing to a long-jawed fellow in a cowboy hat and jeans. His tee shirt reads “Two Hearts Van Lines” and is printed with a picture of the sacred hearts of Jesus and Mary. “We have already paid him and given him your luggage.”

  “Thank you.” He offers her a jerky bow. “I do not see the hanged man. Fear death by water.”

  “What nonsense are you speaking?”

  “It’s poetry. Ask Oswaldo.” He turns away without further comment, leaving her staring after him in puzzlement.

  The drive to Arthur’s hacienda is without event. The driver is cordial but not intrusive. Lovern struggles to make conversation, knowing that he must drag himself from the depression that seeks to claim him.

  When he arrives at the front door of Arthur’s hacienda, the driver refuses a tip, saying he has been amply paid. He sets the bag on the front doorstep and goes away with a polite cheerfulness that strangely warms Lovern.

  Arthur must have watched for the van to drive away, for the door swings open before Lovern can raise his hand to knock.

  “My wizard!”

  “My liege.” Lovern looks at Arthur, his normal cockiness falling prey to despair despite his best efforts. “My liege, I have failed. The Sea Queen and Vera are lost and…”

  “You have been a victim, not a failure,” Arthur says heartily. “Who would have believed that Isidro and his allies would break their oaths so lightly? We will punish their arrogance, but first we must decide if we can rescue our people.”

  Lovern lets himself be led into Arthur’s office. As he had expected, Eddie and Anson are already there. Also, to his surprise, is Jonathan Wong.

  “I thought we might need legal advice,” Arthur explains. He takes a seat behind his desk as he once might have mounted a throne. “Lovern, can you report?”

  “Certainly,” he says, “but while I do so, would someone remove these from my wrists and ankles?”

  He shoots back his cuff, revealing the iron bracelet. Anson immediately rises and kneels beside him.

  “Locked, eh? I can pick it. Do you have a paper clip?”

  Arthur opens his desk drawer and tosses him one. “Is that all you need?”

  “Oh, yeah. These locks are just meant to keep Lovern here from taking off the bracelets all by his lonesome. Anyhow, what good is a skill if you need fancy tools to use it, eh?”

  Lovern watches as Anson unbends the paper clip and sets to work, then focuses on the present.

  “The day after we arrived, we were taken into the rain forest, ostensibly to tour. When the plane landed, the three of us—along with Isidro and Oswaldo—went ashore. I was led into a magical field that knocked me out. That’s all I remember.

  “From what I overheard later, I gathered that Vera and Amphitrite were left in the rain forest.”

  Eddie raises his pencil for attention. “Why didn’t they just imprison them?”

  “Partially it’s symbolic—they are endangered by the rain forest as the rain forest is endangered by human action. Partially, it is because they did not want either Vera’s or Amphitrite’s deaths to happen directly by their own hands. A loss to Harmony will not be dismissed lightly.”

  “Then the threat to kill them is empty?” Arthur asks.

  “No. I don’t think so. Isidro is a fanatic�
��he has always been so, whether for jihad, the Allies, or this. He has killed for ideals in the past. This time, he can claim with some truth that he wanted the ladies to get to know the rain forest intimately—that the sojourn was part of their education.”

  “Then he is thinking about the future.”

  “In an odd way.”

  “Do you think he is sane?” Arthur asks.

  “In the legal sense of being responsible for his actions?” Lovern glances at Jonathan. “If he’s crazy, he’s crazy like a fox. All of them are. They know full well that our people would not condone a usual hostage situation, so they have created an unusual one. My guess is that their version of events will be that Vera and Amphitrite became lost in the rain forest.”

  “And if we say other?”

  “My guess is that our silence will be part of the price for the ladies’ safe return.”

  Jonathan Wong nods. “That is logical. If we let it become widely known that we made concessions to regain the hostages, then we are vulnerable to similar tactics in the future. Isidro and his associates may be counting on our realizing that silence is in our own best interests.”

  An iron bracelet thumps to the floor. Anson chortles and moves on to the next.

  “And what if we do not treat with them?” Arthur says. “It is against my policy to endanger the whole to regain the few.”

  “Then,” Lovern says, shaking his wrist as Anson removes the second bracelet, “I believe they will both die and the lands will be awash with the wrath of the Sea King.”

  Eddie nods. “I agree. Amphitrite’s death is what we must fear. If we get her back alive, Duppy Jonah will be appeased.

  “I’m not saying,” he adds hastily, “that we should forsake Vera. Not at all, but Duppy Jonah poses the greatest danger to ourselves, our secret, and innocent others.”

  “True.” Arthur muses. “We need to send an emissary to him asking for time. Who will he speak with?”

  “The Changer,” Lovern says immediately. “I saw real affection between them when we sojourned beneath the waves.”

  Anson finishes unlocking one of the ankle bands and glances up. “I agree. The Changer can also travel by land or sky or sea as a creature of them all.”