He reaches down and scratches the puppy behind her ears. “Moreover, I watched my brother being manipulated by the South Americans. I don’t care to be predictable. Lil and I could have killed each other for Loki’s gain. Even an ancient can learn.”
Arthur nods, thinking of the lessons that he has learned.
“And remember, Arthur,” the Changer says, “without the protection of the Accord, Sven is fair game to any of those he has made an enemy. I would not want Katsuhiro or Dakar on my trail—not to mention Swansdown. I wonder if he will be slain after all.”
“True. But is his pain compensation for your wounds?”
The Changer smiles. “Aesculapius has examined the damage. He will be able to negate Louhi’s magic. When he is done, I will be whole once more.”
“Good!”
“The process may take several surgeries,” the Changer says, “and Garrett has warned me that it will be painful. May Shahrazad and I stay here during the procedure?”
Arthur thinks fleetingly of coyote piss on carpets, of the upheavals the Changer has brought, of the finality of death.
“Of course.” He steps from the dais and strokes Shahrazad’s ears. “I’d be delighted to have you both.”
29
Injustice is relatively easy to bear; it is justice that hurts.
—H.L. Mencken
“Arthur?” Rebecca Trapper stands at the door to the King’s office. “A few of us would like to speak privately with you.”
“Come in.” He stands to greet the small group of theriomorphs who file in. Anson follows them and closes the door. “Is there something wrong with the amendments? If so, I should call Jonathan in.”
“No,” Rebecca says, “or maybe yes. You don’t need to call Jonathan. We’re quite happy with the illusion disguises. We want to suggest members for the research group.”
“The one investigating possible human reaction to theriomorphs?” the King says. “Would you like to be a member?”
“Yes,” Rebecca says, “I would, but I want you to hire two other members.” She gestures sharply, and Swansdown’s illusions are broken. “Two human members. Meet Chris Kristofer and Bill Irish. They’ve attended the last several meetings.”
Chris and Bill bow slightly. “Pleased to meet you, Your Majesty,” they chorus as they have been coached.
Arthur stares, first at them, then at Rebecca, and finally at Anson, who is trying very hard not to laugh aloud.
“You do realize that you are in violation of the Accord,” he asks incredulously.
“Yes, Arthur,” Rebecca says. “I am, along with at least half of the theriomorphs here. I guess you can put us on trial.”
“Oh, Lord, not that!” Arthur moans, pressing his face into his hands. “I don’t think…” He stops, collects himself, becomes stern. “This is a serious matter.”
“We know.” Rebecca becomes pleading. “Arthur, I think we need the human point of view. We’ve been in isolation, guessing what they think, for too long. Chris and Bill can help.”
Chris decides it’s time for him to speak. “King Arthur, Bill and I don’t want to let your secret out—it’s Rebecca’s secret, too, and Bronson’s, and other people we’ve rapidly come to value as friends. Sure, I started out looking for a news story, but that’s before I knew what the news really was.”
Bill adds, “Rebecca is right when she says you athanor don’t know how humans think. You live among us but not with us. It’s like a cat trying to understand a school of goldfish.”
“Half the theriomorphs know?” Arthur asks.
“Half of those who are here,” Rebecca corrects.
“That’s still quite a few.” Arthur turns to Anson. “What do you think, Spider?”
“I’m for it, or I wouldn’t be here, eh? I convinced Rebecca to bring her friends to you quietly. You will hire these two men into your personal service—there is a provision for that within the Accord. Keep their role secret for a while—perhaps until the next Review, when all of this is due to be raked up again anyhow. If they violate our trust…”
He makes a dramatic throat-cutting gesture.
“Some of the athanor will have to know,” Arthur says. “My counselors, for example. The word may get out.”
“If it does,” Anson says, “you can say that you very, very carefully examined the candidates and trust their honesty.”
Chris adds, “King Arthur, we’d be happy to swear on one of those truthstones or take any oath you’d like to design. I can’t say I liked the sound of that aversion spell, but I’d even let you use one of those.”
Arthur shakes his head violently at the last suggestion. “No! Either we extend some trust, or this experiment is useless. An oath is a nice idea, though, as is a truthstone examination.”
“Then,” Rebecca says, “you agree?”
“It seems to be a time of changes,” Arthur says. “Very well, gentlemen, consider yourselves hired. We’ll work out salaries and job descriptions and cover stories at our leisure. Your first job is to make certain that the remainder of the Trappers’ visit is a safe and pleasant one.”
“That,” Bill says happily, “will be no trouble at all.”
Once the amendments to the Accord are signed, most depart, including Vera, who is going to escort the Sea Monarchs on a brief tour of the United States.
She bids the Changer good-bye. “Connel has said his wife can loan me her pelt. I plan to try shapeshifting.”
“Good.” He touches her shoulder lightly. “I will be taking Shahrazad to the Sandias again. Come and tell us how you liked being a seal.”
The mages remain, working on the aversion spells. Tommy Thunderburst, still shattered by the use to which his most wonderful composition had been turned, smashes the amethyst eagle and flushes down the toilet the last of the blue powder that Sven had given him. These cathartic actions completed, he takes some relief in assisting with the spell-weaving. Still, many notice that he has begun drinking heavily.
Shahrazad is among those who gather to watch the wizards place the aversion spells on Louhi, Sven, and the Head. She crouches between her father’s feet, growling as her enemies are led into the room. Daily she has visited the rooms where they are imprisoned, peeing derisively on the door. No one will let her get any closer.
Perhaps only the Big Male recognizes the level of her wrath, but not even he knows of the channel dug in her psyche by the pain of the Disharmony Dance. Through that channel, something courses, building force, waiting only for an outlet.
Shahrazad stares at the three, hating them with all her soul. Soon the Big Male will be taking her back into the wild lands, and her enemies will be out of her grasp. She growls.
The last pinch of scented powder is dropped into the silver censor, the last melodic words are chanted, and the three subjects tremble as if a powerful wind has buffeted their bodies. With a sixth sense, Shahrazad knows that the mages have done their work, that the three are now bound against using that hateful Dance against her.
Is this all that will be done to them? She had understood that the three could be hunted once the mages were done with their workings. Somehow, she had envisioned them changed into prey animals, as her father changes into birds or humans.
Now cold Louhi finishes shaking. Anger darkens her pale, delicate complexion. Spinning on her heel, she raises her hand. Shahrazad bares her teeth, but Louhi’s anger is for the Head, whom she slaps soundly across one cheek.
“Come near me again,” the witch hisses, “and I will make you so miserable that you will pray to return to your bodiless existence beneath the cold, dank ocean waters.”
The Head stares at Louhi, his mismatched eyes full of hurt. For the first time since any has seen him, he looks human.
Sven Trout tosses back his fiery head and laughs. The others join in. Only Shahrazad does not laugh. This is not enough! These three stole her away, tortured her father, made the great pain-song! Her family is a dim memory to her now, but she feels sure that the
ir deaths and the terror she had felt then are these ones’ doing as well.
Would that she could hunt them as her father promised! If only they were little like ground squirrels, like mice, like…
There is a surging within her as the channel finally overflows and then heals. Her bark of delight fills a room suddenly bereft of laughter. She leaps forward toward the rat that crouches where Sven Trout had stood. The rat dives between Lovern’s legs and Shahrazad bounds after, determined to grab and to shake, to twist and break.
She hears the Big Male yelling for her, but ignores him.
“Grab her!” yells Arthur. “Grab them!”
Chaos ensues as everyone tries to obey. When it is resolved, two small animals—a silvery mouse and a ground squirrel with mismatched eyes—have been trapped in a corner by two of the cats of Egypt. Frank MacDonald hastens up with a box.
The third animal, a reddish rat, has made his escape. Lovern is wrapping a handkerchief about the wound in his leg where Shahrazad bit him when he fell on her. The coyote puppy hangs growling from her father’s hand.
“Did they do that?” asks Lil Prima, glancing at the Changer, “or did someone else?”
The Changer, his lost eye now restored, shrugs and sets his daughter down, swatting her when she makes a lunge for the remaining animals.
“I don’t know,” he says. “It’s beyond my knowledge.”
“It could have been a clever ploy to escape,” Swansdown offers. “In order to make the aversion spell hold, we had to remove the iron manacles. That means either Louhi or the Head could have worked a spell.”
“Is there any way to test?” Arthur asks.
“Too fast,” Lovern says. “The signature is gone now.”
“Damn.”
Frank MacDonald clears his throat. “These two don’t seem to want to go anywhere. If no one objects, I’ll take them to my ranch. They can stay there until they resume human form.”
Arthur looks more cheerful. “We don’t have to restore them, do we? They’re out of the Accord and all that. If you want them, Frank, you can have them.”
“And Sven?” says Katsuhiro, for once standing shoulder to shoulder with Dakar. “What about him?”
“He’s yours if you can find him,” Arthur says. “He’s no longer my responsibility.”
The warriors hurry out, trailed by the assembled Cats of Egypt. The falcon leaves Frank MacDonald’s shoulder and sails out the window. Even the jackalopes depart.
“I wouldn’t,” says the Changer, “want to be Sven right now.”
While Chris and Bill stand watch, at the small, private airfield to the north of Albuquerque, tearful farewells are said. Rebecca wipes her cheek before bending to enfold Demetrios in an embrace that lifts the faun right out of his boots.
“Promise you’ll come visit us,” she pleads. “Bronson and I are going to be so lonely out in our forests.”
Demetrios sneaks a glance at Bronson, not certain how the big sasquatch is taking his wife’s emotional outburst. He is relieved to see that Bronson is smiling and nodding agreement.
“Do come,” Bronson rumbles, “you and any of your fellows. You may find that you could be as happy in our misty forests as in the California sunshine.”
Demetrios looks doubtful. “But our dryads and naiads…”
“They were transplanted once,” Bronson says with the composure of one who has seen many impossible things made possible. “They could be again. You don’t need to decide overnight. Come and visit first.”
“Hey, fuzzy lady,” Georgios says, strutting up in new cowboy boots and a garish fringed jacket, “don’t I get a smooch, too?”
Smiling now, Rebecca gives him a hug that bends his ribs. “You come and visit, too,” she says.
“Any babes in your woods?” he asks, leering.
“You’ll just have to settle for visiting me and Bronson.”
Georgios grins. “I can do that. With this new illusion magic, I’m going to be able to get out on the town a lot more. The mares are going to get awfully lonely.”
“Loverboy!” Demetrios says, despairing.
“That’s me,” the other replies contently. “That’s me.”
As Anson A. Kridd sets his suitcases by the front door, the door to Arthur’s office opens and the King himself emerges.
“Are you leaving now, Anson?”
“That’s right, back to interrupted business. You’ll take care of Eddie, not work him into the ground while his leg heals?”
“I promise.”
The King stands silently for a moment. Patting down his pockets until he finds a bar of chocolate, Anson watches Arthur, an expression of open amusement on his broad, dark face.
“Yes, Arthur?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“But you want to.”
Arthur looks at one of Vera’s weavings hanging over the fireplace, at the tiled floor that desperately needs mopping, at anything rather than facing that teasing brown gaze.
“Yes, I guess I do. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done—helping Eddie, going to South America, managing the Changer…”
“Nobody can manage that one unless he wants it,” Anson chuckles.
“That may be, but you are one of those who can influence him. I am grateful you were here.”
“It was an interesting time, eh?”
“More than.” Arthur glances at the Spider. “Anson, I was wondering if you would like to be one of my formal advisors.”
“Me? The troublemaker? I thought as you see it, I’m nearly as bad as Sven Trout.”
“Not quite.” Arthur grins. “I’ve been thinking about what the Changer said—about stagnation and stasis. Eddie is a good counselor—one of the best—but he knows me and my feelings on certain matters too well. Jonathan Wong delights in order as, in a different way, does Vera. Especially with these new humans on board, I need someone who will tell me when I’m…”
“Getting stodgy?”
Arthur looks affronted, then relaxes. “In a nutshell, yes.”
Anson considers. “Do I need to live here?”
“No. Jonathan doesn’t. You could check in every day or so by e-mail. And if you would visit…”
“Visit?”
“So you can look at me and grin that irreverent grin and make me realize that I’m being an ass.”
“Oh!” Anson rubs his palms together briskly. “I can do that!”
“I’m sure. Will you accept my invitation?”
“What’s the pay?”
“We can work out something either in terms of favors accumulated or money.”
Anson grins. “I like the idea of favors.”
“Somehow, I thought that you would.”
“Okay. Here’s my first piece of advice. Work more closely with Duppy Jonah.”
“I have already planned to do so.”
“And second. Get yourself at least one more woman as a counselor.”
“A woman? There’s already Vera.”
Anson wags a finger at him. “Stodgy, Arthur. You need the distaff perspective. Trust me. Women see things differently. They can’t help it. Vera has some of that perspective but not enough. You need women—maybe a human woman.”
“A woman.”
“Right.”
“Very well. Anything else?”
“Yes.” Anson watches Arthur stiffen. “Get at least one of the theriomorphs as a counselor.”
Arthur relaxes. “I had thought of that. It will keep them from feeling left out.”
“Wrong reason,” Anson says. “Like the women, those without human shape see things differently. You need that, too.”
“Any suggestions as to who I should pick?”
“Maybe the faun Demetrios. Maybe a yeti or sasquatch. Not a kappa. They’re too isolated yet. I can think on it and get back to you if you wish.”
Arthur takes a deep breath. “Please do.”
Anson takes Arthur’s hand and shakes it vigorously. “I am h
onored by your offer, Your Majesty.”
Arthur returns the handclasp and adds a slight bow. “And I am honored to have you on my staff.”
A horn toots outside. Eddie swings in on his crutches.
“Your ride’s here, Spider. Have a good trip.”
Anson hugs him. “See you soon, Eddie.” He hefts his bags. “See you, Arthur.”
Arthur watches him depart, wondering what he has just invited into his life.
When night falls, a reddish brown rat trembles in the bosque down near the Rio Grande. An owl hoots. Cats yowl. Heavy feet trample through the growth.
The rat presses closer to the ground. There is something he should remember. Something he should do. An almost memory beats like panic in his tiny brain. He scurries a few paces across open ground.
An owl hoots. He hears the near inaudible rush of its wings and freezes.
There is something he should remember.
About the Author
Jane Lindskold is the award-winning, best-selling, internationally published author of over sixty short stories and twenty-some novels, as well as a considerable amount of non-fiction.
Among her better-known works are the six-volume “Firekeeper Saga” (beginning with Through Wolf’s Eyes), the two athanor novels (Changer and Changer’s Daughter), and the three-volume “Breaking the Wall” series (beginning with Thirteen Orphans).
Although creating novels takes the bulk of her writing time, Lindskold has always enjoyed writing short fiction, because it provides fresh opportunities to explore different types characters and themes.
A former English professor, Jane Lindskold has been a full-time writer since 1994. She currently resides in New Mexico with her husband, archeologist Jim Moore, assorted small animals, and a garden that keeps her busy enough that it should qualify as another pet.
Visit Jane's website at http://janelindskold.com
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