Changer (Athanor)

by Jane Lindskold

  “Maybe that’s because you continue to live life at its simplest level,” Vera suggests. “I’ve noticed that when life gets complicated the days seem to be spent before they are even lived. Plans, commitments, schedules—everything gets in the way of the day as it really is.”

  The Changer twists the cap off of his bottle of apple juice and takes a swallow. “I hadn’t considered it precisely in that way, but I suspect you have something there. I must admit, a coyote or a raven or a dolphin doesn’t worry much beyond meals, mates, and simple commitments.”

  “You’ve been a dolphin?” Vera asks, enthralled.

  “I have. It was interesting, the pod is a family structure, and dolphins take joy in the weirdest things. Dionysus and I swam with the same pod once. He said that dolphins and whales had a mastery of song that he longed to know.”

  “And did he know it?”

  “I’m not certain. He’s a strange one. When he’s happy, he’s the most charming person I’ve ever met—the only male ever to tempt me. When he’s depressed, he spares no one, least of all himself. I suspect that only Lilith could stand him long.”

  “I’ve never been very comfortable with Lil,” Vera admits. “I know I should invite them over since we’re in neighboring cities, but she makes me edgy.”

  “Lil and I have never been great friends,” the Changer says. “She thrives on crisis and destruction. I’m a peaceful soul.”

  Something glints in his yellow eyes at these last words. Vera knows that he is thinking of their unknown enemies, of the vengeance he longs for, of the duty he must perform before he can again escape into the wild shapes he loves.

  For a brief, heart-wringing moment, Vera wishes that the conflict would stretch out over years, over centuries so that this strange ancient would not vanish once more. She turns her gaze away, fearing that he will read her feelings in her eyes.

  “Lovern has just completed analysis on the bullet taken from the young raven,” she manages to say casually. “I thought you would like to know what we found out.”

  “I would.”

  “It was indeed ensorcelled: one spell for accuracy and another for force. Lovern says that spells of that sort have been invented and reinvented, shared and traded so many times that he may never pinpoint these precise ones.”

  “And then,” the Changer says dryly, “they may not tell us anything more than that our enemy has learned a particular spell—or has an ally who has.”

  “Yes. The gun itself was unregistered, but it had a pawnshop’s mark. Eddie is going to try to learn if the owner remembers anything about the person who bought it.”

  The Changer frowns. “And that probably won’t help either. Even a nonmagical disguise would be a simple enough precaution to take. Still, I don’t suppose that we can leave any possible lead uninspected.”

  “No,” Vera agrees. “After all, the assassin had no idea that he would be forced to leave the weapon behind. He might have been careless.”

  “Here’s hoping,” the Changer says, draining the last of his apple juice. “I’m getting very frustrated with waiting.”

  “We all are,” Vera says softly. “I strongly dislike being the mouse in this game.”

  “It is easier to be the cat,” the Changer agrees, “or the coyote. I’m going to take the little one for a run before it gets dark. After yesterday, I’m not going to make attacking me easy. Would you like to come along?”

  Although uncertain as to whether he has asked her in order to have backup or because he wants her company, Vera feels her heart leap. She chides herself for foolishness.

  “Let me see if Arthur needs me. Then, I think it would be nice to get out.” She grins, pleased at her own composure.

  They drive to a large, public park across the street from an elementary school. Although the students will not be dismissed for another quarter hour or so, a few cars are already idling by the curb. The area should be busy enough for at least the next hour, so that any enemy strike would need to be subtle indeed.

  The Changer has kept his daughter on her red-nylon leash. Now, kneeling in front of her, he looks her squarely in the eyes.

  “Come when I call you,” he says sternly, then unclips the leash.

  The puppy bounds off, rolling over her own front end in her haste, pausing to shake, then to bound off again, only to be distracted by a beetle.

  “Did you ensorcel her just now?” Vera asks casually.

  “When I looked her in the eyes?” The Changer chuckles. “No. I just put the fear of her father in her. She forgets from time to time that we are one and the same. The eyes remind her.”

  Even as he speaks, the Changer’s gaze travels restlessly, marking possible threats.

  “They do?”

  “I have no sorcery,” the Changer continues, “except for my changing of shapes. I must admit, that gives me quite a lot of power, as I can travel within all the elements but one and adapt to almost any circumstances. However, like our enemy, I need amulets to work spells.”

  “You’re telling me quite a lot about yourself,” Vera says, not knowing whether to be pleased or alarmed.

  “You seemed interested,” the Changer says, “and it’s not anything that you couldn’t deduce if you put your mind to it. I’ve noticed how fond you are of puzzles.”

  “Still,” Vera cautions, “be careful of what you admit to whom. I could be one of your enemies.”

  “If you were,” the Changer says, “I would disable you. Your knowing what I can and cannot do would not stop me.”

  Vera feels a thrill of danger and that damned attraction again. The Changer, his gaze shifting between the pup (now rooting under an ornamental boulder) and their surroundings, does not appear to notice.

  “We’re one large family,” he says. “As such, we know rather too much about each other—especially those of us who have been around for a few millennia. Weaknesses and strengths alike—which can be one and the same. Take Eddie, for example…”

  “Eddie?”

  “That’s right: Enkidu, Bedivere, Heimdall. Always a faithful follower—always faithful to one man and that man is Arthur. The bond isn’t sexual, at least as far as I can tell. Simply, as the earliest legends suggest, something in Eddie was created for Arthur. He is happiest at his master’s side.

  “The times he has been most miserable have been when something has separated them. Sometimes it has been a family conflict—several of Arthur’s wives have greatly resented Eddie—some of Eddie’s wives have resented Arthur. Other times, Eddie has grown weary of being taken for granted and has gone off on his own for a few decades.”

  “He always comes back?”

  “Or Arthur seeks him out. You see, Arthur is a born leader, but a leader cannot lead without followers. He is diminished without his faithful knight.”

  “I never thought of that,” Vera says. “Arthur simply commands and others obey.”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes not. I must admit, since Arthur linked up with Lovern, his ticket has been hard to beat. Some have tried, as well you know. Before modern technology, our people often had several different governments. Now, however, between access to technology and high magic, any of those governments has been secondary to Arthur’s.”

  “You’ve been thinking about this a lot,” Vera says, impressed. She’d never considered what might have been going on in the mind of the silent coyote drowsing in the courtyard.

  “I have,” the Changer admits. “Lovern deliberately threw me a challenge last night when he suggested that our enemies might be out to undermine Arthur’s reign.”

  Vera nods. “The idea has been mentioned to me. I have a bit of trouble believing it though. For centuries now, athanor governments have changed relatively peacefully.”

  “For centuries now,” the Changer contradicts dryly, “the majority of athanor government has been Arthur and Arthur’s policies. The last athanor-against-athanor coup was in China in the seventeen hundreds. When, centuries later, Tin Hau grew tired of rul
ing, she made an alliance with Arthur in return for help relocating some of her people who were threatened by the communists. Even my brother now moderates his reign to conform with the Accord established by Arthur on land.”

  “Your brother?” Vera asks. “Oh! Duppy Jonah. He’s the only one of our people you claim as kin. Isn’t that true?”

  “We are all kin,” the Changer says, “but, yes, Duppy Jonah is the only one for whom I feel a sibling’s bond. We were both sea-born long before humans rose onto two feet, long before dinosaurs ruled the lands.”

  Vera swallows hard. Some of the others are accorded the courtesy title “ancient”—Arthur and Eddie among them, but next to the Changer and Duppy Jonah, they truly are newcomers. Even her relatively vast age vanishes to nothing by comparison. She longs to ask questions, but she is too awed to interrupt.

  “Perhaps someone seeks to overthrow Arthur’s long monarchy. As much as I dislike considering that I have an enemy cruel enough to slaughter my mate and children to get at me, I like even less the idea of having an enemy who would slaughter my family to use me against Arthur. I will not be anyone’s pawn.”

  The last sentence is nearly growled. Vera nods. “I don’t like the idea much myself, and I don’t have your apparent dislike of hierarchies.”

  The Changer grins at her. “I have nothing against hierarchies. I just prefer to choose my own position in them. With the current one, I consider myself a friendly ally.”

  “But not a subject?”

  “But definitely not a subject.”

  Vera smiles, impishly. “Is this another of those strength/ weaknesses?”

  “Exactly.”

  “What do you see as mine?” she asks, surprised at the question, even as it leaves her lips.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  She hesitates. “Sure.”

  “You have several in common with the lot of us: arrogance, temper, a tendency to underestimate humankind. Otherwise, well, I think that one of yours is a direct opposite of mine.”

  Vera realizes that the Changer is being kind. By wording his response this way, he is admitting a weakness of his own.

  “And that is?” she prompts.

  “You are afraid of love,” he says, “and I don’t just mean the sexual kind—that much-vaunted virginity. I mean you are afraid to make that ultimate link to another. You fall into line in a chain of command; you are capable of loyalty far stronger than mine, but love in its many forms—not merely romantic love—you keep at bay.”

  He shrugs. “That isn’t all a bad thing. Love is why I am where I am right now. It is why I am seeking revenge from people who may be more powerful than I am. My paternal love is why I am standing in a public park being buffeted by the wind when I’d much rather be making a new life somewhere else. Love restricts my actions, but love gives me strength as well.”

  “Love?” she says, hardly believing that she is hearing this from the fierce, dark, brooding figure beside her.

  “That’s right. Love makes me a creator—of children, of circumstances. It expands me in ways that I could not be expanded by my own power. But it limits me as well.”

  He glances at her, sees that she is listening without anger, and continues, “I think that’s why Lil makes you so uncomfortable. You aren’t destructive, but you see in her something that you could be. She negates, but you deny. From my way of seeing things, those qualities aren’t all that far apart.”

  Children are streaming from the school now: running about, calling to parents, to friends. The Changer strides over to be closer to his daughter; Vera trails after, thoughtful.

  She’s too intelligent simply to reject his words out of hand, but she is not particularly pleased with them. How much truth had there been in that rambling speech? She had always believed that she loved—just that she chose not to have sexual congress. Could there be anything to what he had said?

  Reminding herself that the Changer is no prophet, that he is a simple animal much of the time, that his drive to engender children is a base instinct shared by all beasts, Vera catches up to him. She certainly isn’t going to confirm his opinion by rejecting him now when all he offered her was his honest opinion.

  And she’ll think about what he has said.

  Really.

  Eddie sticks his head into Arthur’s office. “Where’s Vera?”

  Arthur looks up from something he’s been plotting on his computer. “She took the Changer and his daughter out to a park. Do you need her?”

  “Not her specifically. I was going to run over to that pawnshop on Central—the one the twenty-two came from—and see what I can learn. I thought she might want to come along.”

  “You could call her and see when she’s coming back.”

  “No, that’s all right. I can probably be there and home again before she could bring the others back.”

  Arthur studies his friend. “You are still uncomfortable with the Changer, aren’t you?”

  Coming into the office, shutting the door behind him, Eddie slouches into the chair reserved for him. “I guess so, Arthur. He certainly hasn’t caused any trouble, but he’s so…”

  “Wild? Strange? Unpredictable?”

  “No. I mean, yes. He is all of those things, but so are many of our people. I simply dislike having someone who is not sworn to you residing under your roof—especially now.”

  Arthur strokes his beard. “He is one of our people, Eddie.”

  “By blood and gift, yes, but he is not one of your people.”

  “At least he is honest about that, my knight, unlike many.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Talk with him, Eddie. Consider it my request. The Changer has been known to us for many years, but you are correct. The Changer has never been of our court. Perhaps you can win him.”

  Eddie drums his heels against the floor. “I am tempted, my lord. I, too, was once of the wild. There my potential would have been untapped. Perhaps I can make the Changer see this.”

  “If anyone can sway him, it will be you,” Arthur says fondly.

  “Enough gossip.” Eddie surges to his feet. “I want to get back from the pawnshop before rush hour starts. They’re tearing up Lomas again. It’s going to make a mess of late afternoon traffic.”

  “Good luck.”

  Placing the cased twenty-two in the trunk of a modest sedan, Eddie drives over to Central. Once a stretch of Route 66 that passed through the heart of Albuquerque, this road has seen better days. The State Fairgrounds gives ample excuse for a number of seedy motels and questionable restaurants, but there are legitimate businesses as well.

  The Golden Balls pawnshop, while sharing qualities with all businesses of its type, is definitely an upscale version. Floors are swept. A neat array of guitars, trumpets, and other musical instruments hangs on the walls. The long, glass cases displaying jewelry, watches, and knickknacks are clean.

  The air smells of glass cleaner and pine incense, not at all a bad combination. A round-faced Hispanic woman looks up from her copy of the Albuquerque Tribune when he enters.

  “Let me know if I can help you,” she says politely and returns to her crossword puzzle. Eddie, who notices such things, sees that she is doing the Times puzzle in ink and is impressed.

  Desiring to wait until the two other customers have left, Eddie browses at a case of silver jewelry. A silver pin of an owl, inlaid with jet and shell, catches his attention. Vera would like that for her collection.

  Southwestern Indian art rarely depicts owls—these being considered birds of ill-omen by Navajo and many of the Pueblos. Recently, more work is being done for the collectors and non-traditional subjects can be found. This piece, however, has a flavor of the old beliefs. The hunched shoulders and orange eyes look as if they hold secrets.

  When the other customers leave, Eddie clears his throat. The shopkeeper looks up immediately. Given that many of her clients are probably embarrassed at their need for quick money, no doubt she is accustomed to the desire fo
r privacy. Eddie’s neat clothing gives no real indication of his relative wealth—especially in the Southwest, where jeans can be formal wear. In any case, with easy access to casinos, even the most prosperous might need a little quick credit.

  “Yes, sir. May I help you?” When she stands, he sees that she is quite tiny, a doll of a woman. There is a toughness to her, though, and a confidence that suggests that either she has backup somewhere near or a very good alarm system.

  “I wanted to look at one of the pins here.”

  She comes over, opens the case. “Which one?”

  “That owl.”

  Without any reluctance, she hands it to him. Then again, her superstitions would be different. Although the Spanish and Indians have intermarried over the centuries since the Spanish first colonized New Mexico, the populations have remained distinct in many ways.

  “Pretty,” he says, turning it over in his hands, checking the set of the tiny rectangles of inlay, looking for the maker’s mark and the certification of the silver’s quality.

  “It is,” she agrees.

  “A friend of mine told me about it,” he says, continuing his inspection. “He saw it when he was here a couple of days ago to get a rifle—a twenty-two.”

  The woman nods. Perhaps bored by her crossword or eager to make a sale at this slow time of year she is inclined to talk.

  “I think I remember him,” she says, “red-haired, very fair. I told him he should watch that the sun did not burn him. He said he burns very easily. Is this your friend?”

  “I think so,” Eddie smiles. The red hair could easily be a disguise, so could the fair skin if the man has access to illusion magic or shapeshifting. Still, the description could help. “This is a pretty piece. How much?”

  She takes it, checks a sticker discreetly stuck to the back.

  “Fifty-five dollars.”

  The price is fair. The person who pawned it certainly got much less.

  “I think I’d like it. Do you take local checks?”

  “Yes, sir. We like checks or credit cards. Cash, too, though not so much.”