by L. A. Kelley
As the weeks passed under Clovis’ tutelage, I slowly progressed from fantasy creatures to strictly realistic ones. They proved to be much more difficult. The realism disintegrated with the slightest imperfection. Holding a lie together is darn near impossible when the audience has doubts.
A thousand details had to be tackled at once. Every animal had specific colors, sizes, textures, shapes, along with sounds and smells unique to the breed. The slightest deviation from reality and the whole illusion collapsed. Odile was the hardest to fool. She had intimate knowledge of not only the appearance of every plant and animal in the bayou, but also, she insisted, how they felt. Every time I was certain all the details were flawless, she spotted the spell.
“I don’t understand. The butterfly was perfect.” Odile had wandered into the clearing and to my dismay noticed the fake immediately.
“Perfect in design, yes,” she said, “like a photograph. You have all the attributes exactly right, but no matter how clear and sharp, the picture nevertheless remains a picture. For a believable spell, the true conjurer must capture the animal’s essence.”
“How can I build something I can’t see, feel, taste, smell, or touch?” I complained later to Clovis. “What kind of essence can a butterfly have? It’s a bug.”
The shaman took me to task. “You continue to rely too much on the outer senses rather than the inner. All life has an essence. Odile knows that better than anyone. She has intimate knowledge of every walking, crawling or blooming thing within the bayou. She does not need to see a mushroom to know one grows inside a hollow log. The mushroom speaks to her as clearly as I speak to you.”
“What’s the point, Clovis? I won’t meet Odile in the Lower Worlds. How about we skip to the part where I learn how to kill a demon?”
Clovis stood firm. “Mastering the basics is your one hope of defeating Feu De L’enfer.”
“But—”
“No, buts. Search within. Feel the truth of an object and then transfer the truth to the spell. You have the skill, Peter. Until you learn what keeps you from taking the next step, we cannot move forward.”
Clovis released me for the day. In a funk, I ambled toward the Benoit’s cabin, mulling over his words. They made me uncomfortable because I already had a sneaking suspicion why the last step was so difficult. Deep down, I was afraid. The closer to mastering the spells, the sooner I squared off against a demon. I’d always been good at laying low and minding my own business. Was I up to the fight?
“Peter!” Amelie waved to me from Marie’s garden as she hoisted a basket of produce to balance on her hip.
I waited for her. We made a habit of walking to the cabin together each day after practice. No matter how difficult or frustrating the session had been, seeing Amelie always made me feel better.
“Done so soon for today?” she asked, wiping a hand across her sweaty brow. “Clovis must be getting soft.”
“I’m having a hard time with the final exam. I can’t seem to pin down a butterfly’s essence.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t know what essence you can get from a bug.”
“That is exactly what I said.”
“Maybe you should focus on something smellier like a gator.”
“Clovis didn’t mean that kind of essence.”
“Then what is he talking about?”
“I’m not exactly sure. I think one of those you-know-it-when-you-feel-it-things.”
She nodded with complete understanding. “Like love.”
“If that’s so, then I’m in deep trouble because I can’t ever see myself cuddling with a gator.”
Amelie sighed with exasperation. “You are such a male.”
When I had no idea what Amelie talked about, I found the best approach was to let the conversation drop. As we walked along in silence, her suggestion about the gator stuck in my head. I didn’t like gators. They were the one animal in the swamp that scared the pants off me. Forget trolls—gators were a living nightmare, thundering along like pure evil on four scaly clawed feet. Even the dead ones Chris, Renny, and Mrs. Hart brought back from their hunting trips made me uneasy.
The thought surfaced if I could conquer my fear of gators, I’d be one step closer to facing a real demon. The problem was to find one. Any animal wandering close to Chris’ homestead would end up skinned on the outbuilding wall. Gators lurking nearby must be well hidden. Since I was no hunter, tracking was a problem.
“I said, would you like one?”
I raised an eyebrow. “A gator?”
Amelie offered a handful of berries from the basket, and stared at me. “What are you talking about? I asked if you wanted some berries. They’re very sweet.”
“Oh, thanks.” As I popped a few into my mouth, the notion suddenly occurred Amelie knew where a gator dwelled. She helped Odile collect a blood sample not long ago. I decided to finagle the information from her. “So,” I mentioned nonchalantly, “you ran into a gator not too far from here, didn’t you?”
“Why do you want to know?”
So much for finagling someone with a naturally suspicious nature. I acted all innocent. “I’m making conversation.”
“About gators? I don’t think so. They scare you.”
I sputtered a protest. “No they don’t.”
“Your stomach gets upset when you see one.”
“You’re nuts. I made a little comment—”
“I know where you can find one.”
Her admission stopped me short. “How did you—?”
“You want to understand the essence, whatever-that-is, and you need to get close. Am I right?”
“More or less. If you’ll be so kind as to point me in the right direction…”
“Nonsense. I’m coming with you. The nasty thing wasn’t happy when we collected the blood. I don’t reckon she will be glad to see people again. I’d better bring a rifle.”
I swallowed hard. That didn’t bode well. “I’ll borrow the pirogue.” Chris had continued my piloting lessons and gave me an open invitation to use the small boat. Whenever Clovis cut me loose and the weather was good, I took Esther and T. Chris fishing.
We made plans to meet early the next morning. When I arrived at the dock both Renny and Mrs. Hart waited with Amelie.
“I invited myself along,” said Renny cheerfully. “Chris went to get supplies today.”
I hadn’t seen a lot of them lately. Mrs. Hart left each day with Chris and Renny. Since Renny continued to be a wanted man, Chris always dropped them off before heading to town. Renny and Mrs. Hart would then hunt on their own. Between Renny’s sharpshooting and Mrs. Hart’s keen nose, they always had an addition for Marie’s cooking pot. Esther told me Mrs. Hart said hunting made her feel useful. That made sense. She was never one to sit idle.
Amelie and Mrs. Hart kept a keen watch in the bow while Renny sat with me in the stern cleaning his gun. “I’m curious, Peter,” he asked. “Why a gator? You could pick an animal that doesn’t frighten you so much.”
I sighed. “Does everyone know?”
“Yes—but pay no mind. We all wrestle with fear.”
“Maybe I can wrestle my fear to the ground. At least, that’s the plan.”
“Face your fear? Bon. I approve. And if your plan doesn’t work, I will shoot the gator in the head.”
“Sounds good to me.” I considered the young man who had grown to be a good friend. “May I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“You said we all wrestle with fear. What scares you?”
An angry flush colored his cheeks. “I’m afraid I will never get my honor back. I should have been at home and seen the danger from Delphine, but I was ruled by my stubborn pride and left. My father paid the price. His death is my fault.”
“You’re awfully hard on yourself. Seems to me, the fault is Delphine’s.”
“Not so.” His voice dropped. He checked to make sure Amelie and Mrs. Hart weren’t listening. “Delphine and I were lovers. It was a b
rief infatuation. Delphine soon decided my father’s financial assets were more compelling than mine. That’s the real reason Father and I fought—not the bracelet. I warned him she was merely interested in his money.”
“He was under a spell, Renny. Maybe you were, too.”
His eyes filled with pain. “I wish I had that excuse. Delphine didn’t need to use an enchantment on me. I knew she had a cold unscrupulous heart, incapable of caring for anyone, but herself. The fact made no difference. She was beautiful and passionate. When she threw me over for my father, my pride was hurt. I left when I should have stayed and forced him to see her true nature. Now because of my stupid arrogance I lost my father and Amelie is in mortal danger.” His face twisted in a wan smile. “A gator does not sound so bad, n’est pas?”
“Guess not,” I said with as much sympathy as I could muster.
Amelie pointed to a worn spot on the bank. “The slide is over there, but I don’t see the gator.”
Mrs. Hart sniffed the air and growled. “Lucy has the scent,” said Renny. “Pull over to the bank.”
The point of the trip was to observe a gator. Leaving the boat hadn’t been part of the plan. I was perfectly content to try again another day, but before I could suggest a quick retreat, Amelie stepped off, followed by Renny and Mrs. Hart. Apparently, everyone except me was rarin’ to go.
I swallowed hard and secured the pirogue. Mrs. Hart sniffed a circle and then with a yip, bounded off into the foliage with the rest of us right behind. After thirty feet she stopped dead in her tracks. Her steady gaze met my nervous one. The gator was ahead.
“Wait here,” I whispered to the others.
Amelie cocked the rifle. “Be careful. She spooks easy.”
I parted the brush and muttered under my breath, “So do I.”
The gator was in the grass a dozen feet in front. Amelie had neglected to mention the size. How had Odile taken blood from eight hundred pounds of sheer malevolence? The creature swung the massive head in my direction and hissed.
My stomach dropped to my toes. Primal fear flooded my veins urging a quick cut and run. “Easy girl,” I stammered. “Nice gator.”
She hissed again and turned her body full around to face me. The jaws opened wide exposing razor sharp teeth. Approaching unarmed felt less and less like a great idea, but the thought of admitting to Amelie I was too afraid to look one of the nasty things in the eye didn’t sit well. I had come this far. I wouldn’t rabbit now.
How to find the truth about a gator? Green, scaly, and creepy beady eyes were the truth of the physical appearance. According to Clovis and Odile, each animal or object whether living or not had an essence, too.
I rubbed sweaty hands along the sides of my pants and stretched out my senses. Soon I held a picture of the gator in my mind with no effort. Creating an exact duplicate would be a cinch, but the copy wouldn’t fool Odile for a second.
See beyond. Find the essence.
I shut out all the distractions of the surroundings; the sights and smells diminished, the sounds muted. A tiny prickle jabbed at the edge of my consciousness. At first I took the faint rippling energy to be an effect of the glaring summer sun, but then realized the flicker gave off no heat. No cold emitted, either—simply a tingly force dancing at the brink of awareness. I probed deeper and was immediately hit by a flash of savage instinct. A low rumble issued from the beast. Nervously, I backed off.
“Nothing to worry about, girl. I only want a peek at the old essence.”
The creature hissed again, sizing me up with sinister eyes. The tail whipped around. I could almost hear her smacking lips in anticipation of snack time. With stubborn determination, I squared my shoulders and tore down every mental inhibition.
“Come to me,” I murmured. “I’m ready for you.”
Instantly, my mind flooded with feral images and wild irrational cravings for blood. The rush was headlong and unexpected, nearly knocking me off my feet. I steeled myself against the onslaught. Odile was right. The essence of the animal was nothing like the pale imitations I conjured before. The real one was fierce and untamed, bound by primordial instincts. Man’s laws mean nothing when you live by pure freedom and unadulterated carnage, completely secure in your surroundings.
I embraced the sensations, drawing every last ounce inward. Raw power coursed through me. Fear melted away, replaced by awe. For once I knew exactly what it meant to be a gator in the bayou. Not ugly or evil, good or bad—those were trifling human concerns. Instead, the gator was in perfect union with nature. With complete understanding came newfound respect.
Rule Eight: Once the essence is right, lock the magic in tight.
Confidently, I cast the spell, saturating the words with the animal’s every fundamental attribute. “A gator, biggest one around.”
Click.
A half-ton beast appeared before me, perfect to the last inch of leathery hide. The other gator thought so, too. With a guttural growl, she crashed deeper into the brush. The noise alerted the others.
Amelie pushed her way into the cleaning. “Peter, are you all right?” She immediately raised her rifle.
“Don’t move,” Renny was right behind her, his finger on the trigger. “I have a clean shot.”
“Don’t waste your bullet,” I noted gleefully, dropping onto the animal’s back. The stunned surprise coloring their faces was immensely gratifying.
Amelie gaped. “Y-You made the gator? She isn’t real?”
I glowed with pride. “See for yourself.”
She jabbed tentatively at the leathery hide with the rifle barrel. “Fantastique!”
Renny stroked his fingertips along the spine. “Something is different about this one, Peter. It feels alive, more than any other creature you’ve made.”
“You found the essence,” Amelie crowed.
“Yup.” I gave a swaggering bow, hard-pressed to contain my elation. “The newest shaman of the bayou at your service.” They clustered around offering congratulations. Mrs. Hart sniffed delicately at the torso. “What do you say, Mrs. Hart?” I prodded. “Does it smell right, too?”
“Exactly right,” the little dog said. “Odile would be impressed.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
An Alarming Letter
I gasped. “Mrs. Hart, I can hear you.”
I don’t know which one of us was more excited. Despite having Esther, Odile, and Clovis to translate, I hadn’t realized how much I missed the sound of her voice. “You’re okay? Really?”
“I’m fine, Peter. Better than fine, actually. Honey Bun is a young dog. I have no more aches and pains from middle age. Even the arthritis in my knee is gone.” Her voice softened. “I’d forgotten what being young and active was like.”
“You won’t be a dog forever. We’ll find a way to help you.”
“I’m not worried. For now, more important events concern us. At least I’m useful. Renny and I have managed to keep Marie’s cooking pot full.”
“Never imagined you as the outdoorsy type.”
“Never imagined you as a shaman. Apparently, life had surprises in store for both of us.”
I couldn’t argue. We returned to the Benoit’s. Odile waited on the dock. Her eyes shone when I told her I heard Mrs. Hart now.
“Excellent, Peter. You have placed your feet on the white road.”
Odile was even more pleased when I conjured a gator in the front yard. I flushed with pride as she ran her sensitive hands over the rough hide and declared the reptile indistinguishable from a real one.
All the little Benoit’s crowded around. Georges gawked. “Can I touch it?”
“Better than that,” I said. “How about a ride?”
A combined squeal of delight burst out. Esther, T. Chris, Luc, and Georges crowded onto the gator’s back. Little Liliane perched happily on the tail. “Make it go fast,” she shrieked. I galumphed the creature around the yard. The kids made so much noise no one noticed the Sweet Marie had arrived until Chris pulled to the dock and s
houted, “What’s going on?”
“Peter made the children a gator,” said Marie. “Isn’t that nice?”
Chris shrugged. “Oh, all right then.”
I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating—the people here are crazy.
****
From then on I worked hard every day recreating real plants and animals for Clovis. In the evening, the shaman now spent time sequestered in the swamp, attending to the mystical preparations for opening the door. I offered to help, but he refused saying the magic was beyond my level of comprehension, and must be done alone. Frankly, I was relieved, still not anxious to take the final step. After dinner, the kids always insisted I conjure a gator to ride. I didn’t mind. The spell was good practice.
Summer was nearly over, although you couldn’t tell from the high heat and humidity. The weather didn’t bother me now. Chris declared I had become a real swamper. Never having felt much attached to a place before, his words were gratifying.
School would soon start again for all the Benoit children except Liliane who was too young. T. Chris expressed a very vocal aversion to sitting all day in a classroom and fought a losing battle with his mother to stay home with Esther.
“She needs my help,” he insisted.
Marie wasn’t moved. “Esther is the most self-sufficient girl I know. She memorized the location of everything on the property from the house to each blade of grass. She’s already a big help to me in the kitchen. She does not need you to lead her around.”
“I could help Mamere.”
“Who is more self-sufficient then Esther.”
Esther patted his arm. “It was worth a shot.”
Mrs. Hart barked a warning. Her sharp ears had discerned the sound of a boat engine, but the Sweet Marie and pirogue were both tied to the dock. Amelie, Renny, Mrs. Hart, Esther, and I hid inside the cabin while Chris went to the water to await the visitor.