Find Your Own Truth

by Robert N. Charrette

  Sammy Verner watched the well-dressed man stroll down the street until he reached the broken gate of the Verner house. Leaning on his cane, the man contemplated the fire. At length a shadow flitted over Sammy and his sister, moving across the street in a curving arc before it vanished. But it returned again, and this time Sammy looked up to see enormous bat wings spread against the paling stars. It was a dragon. The creature banked and came to a silent landing at Enterich’s side. It was not Lofwyr.

  “Success?”

  “No trace, no trail. The line must be extinguished.” The dragon exuded satisfaction. “The losses of time spent dreaming are recouped this night. The herd is culled, and the small rivals shall find no allies. They burn. Everywhere, they burn. Are not the flames wonderful?”

  “Perhaps." Enterich replied. “I fear this noise that echoes around the world tonight. It is out of control, and the resulting chaos might demand a high price.”

  “Temerity. But dawn comes and we must be away.”

  The dragon stretched its wings.

  Sammy hid his head. Despite his own leavening of experience Twist was overwhelmed by childish terror and hid as well. Together the boy and man consciousnesses huddled in fear.

  The sound of the beast’s passage was a roaring moan. It might have been wind displaced by the force of the beast’s wing stroke, or it might have been the voice of the mob. If indeed the two were different. Sammy loved symbols, and dragons, were among the best. They were huge and powerful, strong and dangerous. They were elemental beasts that Twist could envision as chaos embodied. When he got up enough courage to look again, the dragon and the man were gone as though they had never been. Maybe they never had.

  But his parents were really gone. His brother, too. Only their memories remained in his heart.

  A skinny old Indian in a breech clout stood at his side. Howling Coyote. “Would you give your life to see them live again?”

  Sam thought about that for a while, then shrugged. “What good would it do? They wouldn’t like what the world has become. Sooner or later, naturally or not, they would die again, and I’d be responsible for making them face that trial again. They already died once. Let them be in peace.”

  “And if you had the power to change the world, to make it so they would like it? Would that make a difference?”

  “No. They’ve earned their peace.” Sam stood up. He was just Twist now, though the child Janice still sheltered under his protective arm. “But I’d change the world anyway. We all have the responsibility to make things better for ourselves and for our families. We all have to do what we can to make the world a better place.”

  “Better for your own ends?”

  “Better for everybody.”

  “What about the cost?”

  Sam looked at the bodies of his parents. They were fading, even as the scene of the old neighborhood was fading. Even the child Janice was fading. “Can I pay less than they did to live up to my beliefs?”

  “Very easily." the shaman said gravely. “Most people don’t stand up and pay when it comes down to it.”

  “There’s a price for everything. Sooner or later, you have to pay.”

  “Hey hey, Dog boy, there may be hope for you yet. That’s the first step in the dance.” Howling Coyote spun and capered away. “Or was it the last? I forget. I’m an old man, ya know.”

  Sam shook his head sadly and followed the shaman into the dawn.

  PART 3

  Pay The Price

  29

  Sometimes the tunnel to the otherworld appeared in different forms, though its nature always remained the same. This time it seemed more an organic tube than a cavern, its rugose walls looking soft and seeming to radiate heat. The odor pervading the place was rank and slightly stale. Sam had the sensation of being in someone’s mouth, which made him feel distinctly uncomfortable.

  He probed ahead with his senses. The Dweller on the Threshold was out there, as always. Like the tunnel, it didn’t always look the same. Once, the Dweller had been perverted by an evil wendigo and warped through some unknown magic to bar Sam from the totemic plane. Sam had faced his fears to overcome the barrier and ultimately defeat the wendigo. He had learned something of the nature of the Dweller in that experience, and believed he would know if the Dweller were ever more than its normal etheric self again.

  He found the Dweller waiting for him. It felt ordinary, though its form was unusual. This time the Dweller manifested itself as a tightening of the passage. Stalactites hung in jagged rows, moving and clashing with stalagmites. Slime dripped and spattered from them, like spittle from the teeth of a hungry carnivore.

  Hoping Howling Coyote had some advice to offer, Sam turned to him. As on previous occasions, the old shaman’s appearance surprised him. Here on the astral, Howling Coyote still looked like an old man, scrawny and weather-beaten as in the mundane world. Sam would have expected such a powerful shaman to look more . . . well, powerful. The shaman sat on a rock that protruded from the cavern wall and leaned against the side of the shaft. It had been Howling Coyote’s idea to take this trip, and the old man’s apparent lack of interest irritated Sam.

  “What are you doing sitting there?”

  The shaman’s eyes were closed and his face composed. His right shoulder twitched in the barest hint of a shrug. “Waiting.”

  “I thought we were going to see Dog.”

  “Not we. You. Dog’s your totem, not mine, and you must find your own truth.”

  Sam felt vaguely betrayed. It was the first time he was going specifically to ask a favor of his totem. Howling Coyote must have done this thing often enough. Why didn’t the shaman show him the ropes? “You’re saying I have to go on alone.”

  A pipe materialized in the shaman’s hand. He puffed on it and said nothing.

  “If you’re not coming with me to the otherworld, why did you bother coming this far?”

  “Thought I could use the exercise.”

  Which was, of course, not the real reason, but Sam wasn’t going to push it. This was probably some kind of test.

  When he turned back to face the Dweller, Sam saw that the gnashing teeth had come closer while he talked to the shaman. Yet Sam had not moved. Months ago, such a minor displacement effect would have unnerved him. Now he just planted his feet, faced the clashing rock, and waited.

  The tunnel had a voice that penetrated Sam’s mind, like water seeping through porous rock. “Welcome again, Samuel Verner. Or do you prefer that I call you Twist?”

  “Twist will do.”

  “Fine, Sam. Stolen any good artifacts lately, or have you been too busy ignoring your sister’s problem?”

  Sam didn’t want to listen to the Dweller’s innuendo, half-truths, and petty revelations of Sam’s secrets and desires. He was plenty able to castigate himself without any help from some astral presence. “Let me pass.”

  “Sure.” The stone teeth yawned wide. “Go ahead.”

  Sam took a step forward and the rocks clashed together. “Oops. Too slow.” Once more the rock formations separated. “Try again.”

  The space encompassed by those teeth was too great to cross in a run before they could slam shut. But this was the astral world, and Sam knew other ways. Focusing his will he flew forward, whisking past the jagged rocks. They clashed behind him.

  “Catch you again sometime, shirker.”

  Sam ignored the Dweller’s parting comment and shot down—no, up—the tunnel. He emerged in a sunlit land of green fields, rolling hills, gentle forests, and pleasant vales. Smoke rose from homey cottages nestled in some of the valleys. Despite all that there was no sign of people, but Sam was used to that. He walked now because it seemed more appropriate, and appropriateness was paramount in the totem realm. He headed down the dirt road that led away over the hills.

  Sam crossed three hills, each more difficult to climb than the last. He sensed that the fatigue he felt was due to more than the walking. By the time he reached the base of the fourth hill, he was almo
st exhausted. It was as though he’d been running for several kilometers, but he remembered only having walked along the road. Somehow he knew that: more than a walk through the countryside had happened, but he had no memory of it. Determined to persevere, he started up the next hill.

  Dog was waiting for him on the crest. The totem was wearing his usual shape, a brindled mutt. His tail swept the dust, but he did not leap up or even stand at Sam’s approach.

  “I would like to speak with you." Sam said.

  Dog turned his head away, seeming to make a scent inspection of a small weed growing near his side. “What makes you think I want to talk to you?”

  “I need guidance.”

  Dog’s head snapped up to look at Sam. The totem wore a canine grin. “That’s for sure. How can I resist such blinding honesty? What do you want to talk about?”

  There were many things, some very pressing, but Sam decided to start with what bothered him most. For all Howling Coyote’s lessons the old shaman had never related a conversation with Coyote. Lots of proverbs concerning the totem, tales of the totem’s doings, and confident assertions of the totem’s demands, but never any words. “Maybe you’d like to tell me why you talk to me?”

  “You sure that I do?”

  Once, doubting the reality of totems, Sam hadn’t been. He had thought that totems were merely psychological constructs through which a shaman organized his thoughts for magic, that they had no independent existence. He still wasn’t completely convinced that totems were thinking entities in their own right, but he could no longer deny all evidence of that. Thus, he had accepted the necessity of dealing with the being sitting before him as though Dog were an independent entity. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Well, that’s something.” Dog cocked his head and observed Sam. “You’re not a very good follower, you know. Don’t pay anywhere near enough attention. Dogs like attention, you know.”

  “I know.” Sam had raised enough real dogs to know that very well. “Sorry.”

  “I’d accept the apology if I thought it was worth anything.” Dog stood up. “Come on, let’s go for a run.”

  Dog didn’t wait for Sam to answer Sam trotted after him. When he caught up, Dog broke into a run. Holding back his questions Sam ran, too.

  It seemed that Dog had nothing more on his mind than exercise. Sam, however, had too much on his mind. After they had been running for what seemed a long time, he panted out a question.

  “Do we have time for this?”

  “There is no time as you know it here. So I guess we got plenty. Or none at all. Take your pick.”

  “I’ll take plenty. I’ve got too much to do.”

  “True enough.”

  Dog stopped, and Sam ran for a few more meters. He stopped, catching his breath, and walked over to join Dog. The totem appeared unwinded.

  “Need to build up your stamina.”

  “I’m working on it." Sam said.

  “Work harder. It’s a crime not to use what you have.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Magic, man. It’s in your blood.”

  “I don’t really like the idea.”

  “Nobody said you had to, but that don’t change anything.” Dog sauntered over to a fence post, lifted a leg, and marked it. “Magic is my territory, man. You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t yours, too.” Dog inclined his head toward the fence post. “Want to make your mark?”

  Sam shook his head. “No thanks. I went before I left the mundane.”

  Though a dog’s shoulders aren’t built to shrug, Dog managed one. Then he trotted over to the other side of the road and sat down where he could look out over the valley. Sam joined him and sat by his side. Neither said anything for a while. Then Dog stood and stretched, before cocking his head to regard Sam.

  “You think the only magic is flash, mirrors, and fireworks?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Good.” Dog nodded his head once. “Magic is life, man. Some of your kind say it’s all just a song and dance. Are they ever wrong! And right, too, which is the point. You start singing the song before you speak your first word, and dance the steps even after your flesh stops moving. Wise up and smell the world around you. It’s marked by magic.”

  “I know." Sam said at last. “I’ve come to see that I have no choice but to use my magic. My magic. But that magic is tied to you, Dog. I came looking for help.”

  “Help? Or advice?”

  “Well, both.”

  “Sure you don’t want power, too?”

  “Well, yes. that too.” No point in putting it off. “I came to learn the secret of the Great Ghost Dance.”

  “What makes you think it’s only got one secret?”

  “If there’s more than one, I want to learn them all.”

  “Pretty ambitious for a pup. You have any idea what you’re asking?”

  Sam knew what he wanted to do with the magic, but Howling Coyote hadn’t really told him much about how the Dance worked. “Not really.”

  Dog sniffed at the grass at his side. “Magic, the world, and life stick together tighter than a burr in fur." he said finally. “The Dance is part of those connections, and all of them. You can’t have one without the other. You sure you want to do this thing?”

  “No.”

  “Good answer. We sure are being honest today.” Dog barked a laugh. “But want to or not, you still gotta ”

  “Why?”

  “Thought you learned to believe in me.”

  “I have.”

  “That’s why you gotta. I’m Dog and you’re Dog, man.” Dog placed a paw on Sam’s leg and stared him in the eye. “Dog is friend to Man, a guardian totem to protect him from evil. I don’t see the web-spinner as being real healthy for man, do you?”

  “No.”

  “See, I knew you were a bright boy even before the first time I laid eyes on you.”

  Something in Dog’s tone made Sam suddenly suspicious. “Which was?”

  “None of your business. I tell you everything and I lose my mystery. What good’s a totem without mystery, huh?” Dog backed away from Sam, then shifted his feet in a most uncanine fashion. The plunging side step with his left forepaw looked particularly difficult for his canine anatomy. “You want to try this step, or not?”

  If this was the Great Ghost Dance, he did. Sam stood and tried the step. The air around him deadened, as if thunder were being held in abeyance. He felt a phantom power coiling around the steps as he took them. Even the practice dance reverberated with the strength of the magic.

  Dog showed him the steps and taught him the song. Sam was acutely aware of the danger of getting the ritual wrong. He tried very hard to memorize the moves and tones exactly. At last, Dog sat and looked at him. The totem’s eyes were sad.

  “You know that what you want is dangerous.”

  So what else was new? “I figured as much.”

  “You willing to pay the price?”

  Sam nodded. “If it will do what I need it to do.” Dog shook his head slowly. “What makes you think your need is what drives the magic, or what will make it work for you?”

  “Didn’t you say that I need to protect mankind?”

  “Man has the need to be protected. You have a desire, but is it the right one? Only you can know. But it had better be. The power you’re toying with doesn’t like being fooled. If you’re not pure enough, it will toast you. And you’re only touching the tip of the magic.”

  “Just what is this purity?”

  Dog started trotting down the road. “You’ll know.”

  “How? When I find out I don’t have it and get roasted?”

  “Maybe.” Dog stopped and looked back at him. “What do you want? There ain’t no sureties in magic. It’s just like life that way. You do your best and hope for the best. If you are in tune with your nature the power will flow, and all will be as it should. If not . . . well, let’s just say you won’t have to worry much in that case.”

  “That’s not very en
couraging.”

  “Like maybe I should scratch you behind the ears, give you a yummy, and lie to you?”

  Dog turned away and began to run. This session was over. Sam turned his back on the otherworld and found himself in the tunnel. Howling Coyote still sat there, waiting and smoking.

  “How did it go?”

  “I can feel the magic.” As Sam said it, he knew it was true. “I know I can do it, but I don’t know how to deal with the mundane threat.”

  Howling Coyote frowned, but something seemed to hide behind his expression. “The magic won’t do it?”

  “Only its part.”

  The hidden smile appeared. “You have learned. Now all ya got to do is use your brain.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The smoking pipe vanished with a flick of the shaman’s wrist. “Line up your dancers.”

  “You’re being as obscure as Dog. Doesn’t anybody associated with magic ever speak plainly?”

  The shaman laughed. “Not if they can avoid it. Keeps the riffraff out of the trade .”

  “So what are you suggesting I do?”

  “You’re Dog, aren’t you?” Howling Coyote asked, suddenly serious. “Summon your pack.”

  30

  At first she thought it was another dream, but her surroundings hadn’t changed. She was still in the basement of the abandoned house Ghost had chosen for them. The only thing out of place was the ghostly image of her brother, standing nearby and pressing on the protective circle she had made. Since she wasn’t dreaming, he was really there—or rather, his astral projection was.

  He looked worried.

  She sat up and reached out to tug on the magic surrounding her, adjusting the ward to let him enter the circle. He drifted in to stand at her bedside.

  “So, you’re not dead." she said, reminding him that he’d left her hanging.

  “No. I only came close a few times.”

  “So you ran into a few problems.” She dismissed his comment with a wave of her hand, not wanting him to know she’d been worried. “Was that any reason not to call?”