Changer (Athanor)

by Jane Lindskold

  “You never know,” Bill says mysteriously.

  He grins flirtatiously at the next pretty girl who passes. To his amazement, she smiles back and winks.

  “You never know,” Bill repeats wonderingly.

  Chris slugs his lightly on the arm. “Come on, Romeo. You can try your luck some other time. I want to beat the traffic and get some rest. Who knows what Rob has up his sleeve?”

  “But I wanted an ice cream cone!”

  “After all that cotton candy?”

  “Sure. It’s the only way to finish a day at the Fair.”

  28

  The reasonable man adapts himself to the world: the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man.

  —George Bernard Shaw

  Chris Kristofer’s phone rings about an hour after he gets home from the Fair.

  “Chris, this is Rob Trapper.”

  “Hi, Rob.”

  “Chris, I need to see you. Bill, too, if you can get him.”

  “You’re in luck,” Chris says easily, his mind racing with scenarios varying from Rob giving him a full confession to Rob setting him up to be assassinated by Dakar and Katsuhiro. “Bill crashed here—he didn’t want to miss your call.”

  “Can you come by our hotel?”

  “Sure,” Chris hears himself saying. His mouth is a lot more confident than his imagination. “Is a half hour okay?”

  “Come to Room 805. We’ll be waiting.”

  “Right.” We, Chris thinks as he hangs up the phone. I hope to hell that “we” doesn’t include Dakar and Katsuhiro.

  Rob opens the door to Room 805 and hurriedly ushers them in.

  “You remember Bronson,” he says nervously. “This is my Aunt Swansdown and my friend Demetrios.”

  “Aunt”? Chris thinks, looking at the white-bearded fellow sitting stiffly upright on the sofa. He glances at Bill, who shrugs ever so slightly.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Chris says, accepting the seat Rob offers. Bill echoes him.

  “We… well, I,” Rob begins. Demetrios interrupts.

  “‘We’ is okay, Rebecca. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here. We’re all taking a considerable risk.”

  Chris raises one hand. “I think we need to start at basics. Who are you folks? Is Rob’s name really Rebecca?”

  Rob nods. “Yes. I’m Rebecca Trapper. Bronson’s my husband. We’re… We’re sasquatches.”

  Chris finds himself gaping.

  Bill sputters, “Like Bigfoot? All of you?”

  Demetrios gives a thin-lipped smile. “Not all of us. I’m a faun. Swansdown is a yeti.”

  “An Abominable Snowman,” she says. “Or Snowwoman.”

  Explanations take quite a while, but by the end the two humans have a fair grasp of what the athanor are and what risks the four theriomorphs are taking by talking with them.

  “So if you could get thrown out of this Accord for talking to us,” Chris asks, “why are you doing it?”

  “Arthur and the others need to see that all humans aren’t like what he fears,” Rebecca says eagerly. “You helped us last night, trusted us. We want to trust you now. It might be the first step toward something a whole lot bigger.”

  “You mean,” Bill says, “you want us to be ambassadors for the whole human race?”

  “What’s to keep Arthur from killing us?” Chris says in almost the same breath. “We’re dangerous to his secret.”

  “Rebecca thinks,” says Swansdown, “that the secret can’t be kept for much more than a century. I’m coming to agree with her. The amendments to the Accord that we’ve been negotiating include an information campaign. You two could help.”

  “And you trust us not to blow the whole thing wide open?” Chris says, visions of headlines running through his head.

  “I think,” says Bronson, and something of his bearing reminds Chris of Dakar Agadez, “that you realize there are certain risks involved.”

  “So we’re in whether we like it or not,” Bill says.

  “Pretty much,” Swansdown says. “There are ways to make it impossible for you to speak about any of this, but I prefer not to use them. They can be painful and noticeable.”

  The two humans trade glances.

  “Actually, we’d like to help,” Chris says. Bill nods, suddenly solemn as he realizes this is a lot more exciting than a career in computer engineering.

  “First of all, we need to sneak you into the meeting,” Rebecca says. “Aunt Swansdown has worked out an illusion…”

  The next morning, Chris and Bill take seats in a crowded room buzzing with conjecture and rumor. Thanks to Swansdown’s art, they are disguised as two fauns who have agreed to hide back at the hotel. Demetrios assures them that no one but the fauns and satyrs, who are in on the secret, should notice the switch. In any case, they have no desire to draw attention to themselves for both Katsuhiro and Dakar—as well as other menacing figures—are among those in the meeting room.

  King Arthur sits at a curved table at the front and slightly to the side of the room. The central position is commanded by a speaker’s podium.

  Near the front of the room, off to the left, is the one-eyed Changer from the night before, a puppy leaning against his leg. Someone Rebecca has identified as Frank MacDonald sits near him. Amazingly, he has a falcon on his shoulder and what has to be a jackalope in his lap. Something like a half dozen cats occupy other chairs.

  Bill excitedly points out Tommy Thunderburst, the rising musical sensation, sitting toward the back, his manager Lil Prima beside him. As Chris makes a mental note to see if he can get an interview, he is shaken to realize that Tommy’s presence means that he both he and Lil are immortal. Somehow, the concept had been easier to apply to sasquatches and legendary kings than to people one reads about in gossip magazines.

  Arthur rises and taps the bell, requesting a silence that comes before the last clear note has faded away.

  “Our business,” he says, with a rueful smile, “keeps getting increasingly complex. We began with from an appeal by the Harmony’s theriomorphic members (supported by some others) that our Accord reform its policy regarding secrecy.

  “Then, yesterday, Sven Trout, speaking as a supporter of these reforms, directly challenged my administration, proposing a complete overhaul.

  “Finally, last night, the Changer came to me requesting a hearing before the Accord regarding a complaint he has against Sven Trout. I would like to ask this assembly if we might begin this day by hearing the Changer’s appeal. Yes, Jonathan?”

  Jonathan Wong raises his hand. “Your Majesty, why should we hear the Changer’s case? He is not a member of the Accord, nor has Sven Trout requested the Accord’s protection.”

  “A good question,” Arthur answers. “The Changer asked that we hear this case because Sven is a member of the Accord. Moreover, as we will hear when the case has been presented, the Changer is bringing his case in part on the behalf of one of his children, a daughter whom he wishes recognized as in Harmony and, thereby, protected by the juvenile’s clause in the Accord.”

  This last statement brings many murmurs, some of surprise, some of approval. All eyes turn to where Shahrazad leans against her father’s leg. (“The puppy’s his child?” Bill whispers. Rebecca nods matter-of-factly and hushes him.)

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Jonathan says formally. “I withdraw any implied objection.”

  Lil raises one elegantly manicured hand. “Your Majesty, why should the Changer’s business take precedence over existing business? Can’t it wait until we have settled the other issues?”

  Arthur gestures for the Changer to speak. “Lil, I want everyone to hear just what Sven will stoop to in order to get what he wants. I think they should know this before they consider replacing Arthur’s government with his.”

  Lil laughs. “Don’t we know too well what Sven is willing to do? But perhaps some of our younger kin need a reminder. Very well, I do not make a
ny formal objection. Let the Changer’s business be handled first.”

  “Does anyone else have a question about this new issue?” Arthur asks. “No? Then we will vote. A show of hands will do and, please, hold them high so that Eddie and Vera can see them. All in favor of hearing the Changer’s case as our first item of business, raise your hands.”

  Eddie and Vera make a quick count.

  “All against?”

  One hand rises. Katsuhiro Oba shrugs.

  “I’m so tired of all this talk,” he says, thrusting out his prickly beard defiantly.

  A varitoned chuckle fills the room, then Arthur motions for the Changer to come to the speaker’s podium. He does so, Shahrazad hugging close to his legs.

  “Thank you all,” he says, his gravelly voice carrying easily through the packed room.

  In a brief, concise speech, the Changer tells of Shahrazad’s kidnapping, of the evidence that she had been taken by Louhi and Sven, of Sven’s phone call and the demands he had made.

  The Changer’s missing eye is testimony enough that he has paid the ransom and at a cost higher than what had been asked. He then tells of what he had overheard regarding the use to which his blood and eye would be put. Several in the audience look ill, and many glance uneasily at where the Head sits impassively beside an equally impassive Louhi.

  When he has finished, various hands fly up. Arthur recognizes one at random. “Smith?”

  “Changer, why did you bring your charges against Sven alone? Louhi seems to have done her share, and this Head, if he is as intelligent as he claimed yesterday, knew what was going on.”

  “I knew from the scent that Sven had carried away my daughter. He made the phone call. I would like the others to be punished for their roles, but I have no proof that they were not merely his tools. He has a special talent for using others.”

  Louhi colors, but she is smart enough not to protest and thus condemn herself. The Head also keeps his peace.

  Arthur recognizes Bronson.

  “Changer, could you clarify Shahrazad’s position regarding the Harmony? We were not at the Lustrum Review.”

  “Shahrazad is my daughter by a coyote who was murdered this last May.” Mutters of surprise and consternation rise, but the Changer is permitted to continue uninterrupted. “I brought her with me to the Review. During the Harmony Dance, she surprised me by joining the Dance.”

  Bronson asks, “But you did not have her recognized then?”

  “No,” the Changer says. “She is a young thing. I thought that there would be time enough when she had avoided the things that kill little wild creatures.”

  Frank MacDonald is recognized. “Changer, if you didn’t know she was in Harmony, why did you bring her with you?”

  “I am her father,” the Changer says simply. “A coyote parent raises a pup for the first six months of its life. My business in Albuquerque did not discharge my responsibility.”

  The Head raises his hand. “Do you believe, Changer, that Sven Trout knew that Shahrazad was in Harmony?”

  “He was at the Dance,” the Changer says simply. “All who were there saw her join in.”

  Chris can tell that the crowd is becoming angry. He looks questioningly at their guide.

  Rebecca whispers, “Many athanor are sterile. Most athanor children do not inherit our gifts. A new athanor, no matter what shape or type, is a blessing to the Harmony as a whole.”

  When there are no further questions for the Changer, Arthur calls Sven to the podium.

  “What do you have to say that might mitigate the right the Changer has to claim restitution from you?”

  Instead of speaking in his defense, Sven Trout begins to laugh. It is a loud laugh, a belly laugh, and he laughs until the tears run down his face.

  “You have me, don’t you, Arthur Pendragon? I came here to challenge you, and now, through this little courtroom drama, you have turned me from a serious contender to a cringing criminal begging for the mercy of the court.”

  Arthur begins to speak, but Sven waves him down with the hand that isn’t wiping his streaming eyes.

  “Don’t deny it, Arthur, my dear. It’s all over you. Why else bring this matter up in front of the whole assembly?”

  The Changer says from his seat, “I asked for restitution and for my complaint to be heard first. I thought that those who had followed you should know about your deals.”

  Sven looks at him, laughter fading as he sees the ancient shapeshifter’s single yellow eye upon him. “Well, Changer, you’re getting your restitution. You’ve ruined my reputation.”

  Anson calls out, “That’s not much, eh, Changer?”

  The Changer says dryly, “This is not all that I want, Sven.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Sven persists, “but while I have the podium, I am left with a few questions.”

  He looks to where Louhi rests her hand lightly on the Head’s thigh. She smiles a sweet, sleepy smile.

  “One question is just how far I should rat on my associates. I’m not good at taking a fall on my own, and I’m ruined anyhow. But before I get to that, what I want to know is, why is Arthur always left on top?”

  Sven spreads his arms in a broad, appealing gesture. “How many of those of us who have mingled in human society have left so many enduring legends behind us? Arthur is Gilgamesh, Akhenaten, Rama, Frey, and, of course, Arthur Pendragon. Isn’t it strange that the athanor who has most actively advocated our hiding ourselves away from the humans is the one who lives over and over again in their memories?”

  Arthur answers gruffly, “Over and over again, I have failed, Sven. My immortality is a legend of lost causes. In those societies where physical memorials could not be escaped, such as in Egypt, I distorted my physical resemblance. Did you think I liked being portrayed as an emaciated, long-jawed hunchback?”

  “I bet that your daughters and Nefertiti liked the art even less,” Sven says caustically, “but I forget, they weren’t really your daughters, not like the Changer’s little coyote bitch.”

  He smiles sweetly. “That is the proper term, isn’t it? And as to that art, Arthur, didn’t it guarantee your being remembered? Everyone who knows anything about Egyptology remembers the unusual representational art of Tel el Amarna. Everyone remembers their heroic king who tried to substitute a kind monotheism for the dictatorship of the priest-kings.”

  “Would I immortalize a failure?” Arthur protests.

  “Some people prefer tragedy to comedy,” Sven says. “Perhaps you enjoy being the tragic hero remembered through the ages—valiant, unlucky in love, struggling against the odds to establish kingdoms of virtue and…”

  “Enough!” Eddie bellows. “You are on trial for your crimes against the Changer. Stop campaigning!”

  “Why?” Sven retorts blithely. “I need all the votes I can get.”

  Eddie paces from behind the table toward the podium: “Votes may be what you need, Sven, but I can ask a few awkward questions, if you wish. Can you swear under a truthstone that you did not come to my hospital room and try to kill me? Can you swear that you did not create the circumstances for the accident that put me in the hospital in the first place?”

  Sven smiles charmingly. “I don’t think I’d better answer those questions. And maybe you don’t want to ask them.”

  From where she sits, Vera says softly, “That sounds rather like a threat to me.”

  Sven’s smile becomes vaguely snide.

  “Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”

  Chris and Bill watch in silence as the assembled athanor wave their hands in the air, one after another raising various complaints they hold against the red-haired trickster. Much refers to events they’ve never heard of, but it’s clear that Sven doesn’t have many friends among his peers—and equally clear that he doesn’t particularly deserve them.

  At last, the attorney Jonathan Wong raises his hand and is recognized: “Your Majesty, I have been privately asked by a number of those gathered here to present a motion that
Sven be ruled both out of Accord and out of Harmony.”

  Even the humans realize the import of this request.

  “Both?” Arthur says sternly, cocking an eyebrow. Ruling a member out of Accord—often for a limited period of time, the sentence to be reviewed thereafter—is considered a strict but standard penalty. Ruling someone out of Harmony is a much more serious punishment and is often irrevocable—for once separated from the sustaining force of the Harmony, the criminal dies.

  “Yes, Your Majesty. Both.”

  “I cannot deal with two such penalties in tandem,” Arthur says. “They must be dealt with separately.”

  “Very well. That is acceptable.”

  Jonathan’s motion is seconded and passed.

  Anson A. Kridd, who has himself been ruled out of Accord several times, raises his hand. “I’d also like to suggest that the same penalties be considered for Louhi and the Head.”

  “Again, I must insist that the penalties be dealt with separately,” Arthur says.

  “I can adapt my motion to that,” Anson agrees.

  This motion, too, is seconded and passed.

  The next day, Rebecca Trapper walks out into the Pendragon Estate grounds with Chris, Bill, and Demetrios.

  “Rebecca, you don’t look very happy,” Demetrios says. “Are you annoyed that this business has interrupted our agenda?”

  “No!” She looks shocked. “These are serious matters. I’m still adjusting to the fact that our Moderator is Sven Trout—and the things he did, the deals he made, to advance our cause.”

  “His cause.”

  “Yes. I suppose so. What he did doesn’t change the fact that much of what he said was right. I don’t want to go back to hiding in the woods.”

  “I know,” Demetrios says, putting a reassuring hand on her arm. “And Arthur will listen to us.”

  Bill laughs nervously. “I sure hope so. I don’t want to be on trial next.”

  “You won’t be,” Demetrios says.

  “Good.” Bill relaxes, only to stiffen at Demi’s next words.