Changer (Athanor) (42 page)

“I do not call the help we have received from Arthur’s government ‘ignoring,’ Becky.  We would not have this land nor the electronic equipment you so treasure without his assistance.”

“Gilded bars for a cage!” Rebecca retorts.  “If the humans learn of us, then the jig is up for the rest of them.  I watched all the submeetings, the ones you skipped.  Over and over again the theme was concealment lest we be discovered.  If they’re worried about creating electronic records or financial trails, how much more do they fear people with fur or hooves or horns!”

“‘They’?  They are us.  We are one type of people: the people of myth and legend, those who live outside of human time.”

“No!  We’re the
huldre
folk, just like Louhi said.  We are hidden from view.  We’re Eve’s unwashed children, the people that everyone denies.  I, for one, am tired of it!”

Bronson looks at her, his heavy brows drawn down over jetty eyes.  “And so you want to go to Albuquerque.”

“Yes.”

“And what will you do once our hiding is over?”

“Live like a normal person.”

“But we are not normal people.  We are tall, massive, covered with fur.  We have heavier bones.  We climb trees like monkeys.  We live for centuries—except when we are slain by action or chance.  You cannot deny what we are, Rebecca.  We are not normal people.”

She stares, having rarely heard him speak so passionately.

“Then,” she says, more hesitantly, “we will show them that shape and size don’t matter.  What matters is the mind.”

“You believe that you can demonstrate this… even though humans still divide themselves with barriers of race or creed or nationality?”

“Yes!”  She raises her chin defiantly.  “Of course.  How can they deny the evidence of their own eyes?”

“Easily.”  Bronson scratches beneath his furry rib cage.  “They do it all the time.  Get out on that precious web of yours and look at something other than the opinions of your isolated chat group.  Take a look at the splinter religions, the hate groups, the news reports from areas where humans are busily slaughtering each other.  Do that for a week and then tell me with the same confidence that humans are ready for sasquatch and satyr, fauns and
tengu
, sea serpents and jackalope.”

“I want to go to Albuquerque,” she says stubbornly.  “I’ve hardly been anywhere but these forests.”

Bronson frowns.  “We go to visit the Olsens.”

“Same old forests, just in Washington State.”

“I took you to Alaska to visit Snowbird’s family.”

“That was cold.  I want to see cactus.  I want to feel really hot sunshine.  I want to talk to people up close, not just through the computer or telephone.”

“You see the Olsens, Frank MacDonald, and the Vagrant every year.  The Smith comes by, too.”

“A handful of people out of billions!  They’re all athanor.  I want to know what a crowd is like.  I want to know something
different!
 Bronson, I’m two hundred years old—almost as old as this country—and instead of seeing my horizons increase, I watch them getting narrower with every technological advance.”

“Two hundred years,” Bronson smiles, “and each day as long as any other day for anyone else.  Yes, I know.  I forget that what seems like peace to me may seem like stagnation to you.”

Rebecca frowns, uncertain if she is being teased.  “I know you are older than I am…”

“Much.  My grandmother carried my father to this continent in her arms when there was still a land bridge over the Bering Strait.  I remember migrations across this continent when I was small.  My father died then; my mother, too.  We may have had more freedom, but life was much more dangerous.”

Bronson takes her hand.  “Come and walk outside with me.  You’ve been too much indoors.”

She starts to pull away, to return to the comfortable terrain of her depression and sulky mood, but the unbearable tenderness in his expression touches her.

“All right.”

They walk outside.  June is turning into July with an end to pale greenness.  The trees are in heavy leaf now.  Birdsong speaks of territories defended, young calling, not of courtship.  Far above the lake, an eagle screams and dives.

“I’ve known that eagle longer than I have you,” Bronson comments.  “Twice I’ve removed bands from his leg to protect his secret.  I think fifty years had to pass before I was certain it was the same bird.  Just goes to show that we don’t all know each other on sight.”

“Some do,” Rebecca says tentatively.  “Right?  I’ve heard that some athanor can identify others of our kind by scent or by some indefinable aura.”

“That’s true, but just as not all of us have magic or fur or whatever, not all of us have that talent.”

“We differ so.  Are we really all one people?”

“Yes.  No matter shape or size or gift, we are all in Harmony.  Harmony is what gives us our long lives and greater resilience.  The Harmony Dance, more than any other single thing, proves that we have something in common.”

“But
we
don’t get to Dance.”

Bronson strokes her furry rump.  “Really?”

Rebecca blushes.  “There was something extra that night, wasn’t there?”

“Yes.”

“What’s it like when you’re alone?”

“You must know.  You didn’t always live with me.”

“But I lived with my family.  Then after the accident…”  Her eyes cloud with tears as she recalls the flash flood and mud slide that had wiped out her entire family when she was seventy-five, “I lived with the Olsens until I met you.  They always held a celebration.  I’ve always had other sasquatch around.  You’ve been absolutely alone.”

“That’s true.”  Bronson considers.  “I think there’s always a tingle at the edge of the mind, but for many years I didn’t attend to why it was there.  I was just more likely to celebrate with a glass of honey mead and reflect over my good fortune that I had survived another few years.”

They walk for a time in silence.  Bronson remembers other places.  Days when mammoths and dire wolves walked the continent, when humans were a fragile novelty, not a threat.  Until Rebecca came to him, he had always been something of a loner and had never really been lonely.  Perhaps that was Nature’s compensation for a people that seemed to breed more males than females and very few children.  Perhaps he had just learned to consider solitude the norm.  Whatever the reason, Rebecca is not him.  She is clearly lonely, and if he does not help her, he may lose her.

“Rebecca?” he says, decision made.  “If you want to go to Albuquerque, we will, but it must be on my terms.”

“We will!”  She stops.  “What are your terms?”

“We will take care to conceal ourselves.  We will warn Arthur of our coming, not take him by surprise.  I want you to remember that he is not an enemy—no matter what role your chatroom has cast him in.”

“We haven’t!”  

She protests, then, grinning, runs a few steps and grabs a low-hanging branch.  Lithe as the apes she vaguely resembles, she swings back and forth.  The tree shakes slightly in protest.

“Bronson!  You’re wonderful!”  She jumps down and hugs him tightly.

“I’ll want to read the plans your group is making and offer suggestions,” he warns.

“Of course!”

“And we’ll need to start researching appropriate clothing…”

“I’ve done a little already.”

“And think about how we’re going to avoid being noticed for our height.”

“That’s harder, but I’m certain we can come up with something.”

“I don’t want to depend on some wizard for our security,” Bronson warns.  “Debts to that type are never a good idea.”

“Fine!”

“You’re happy, aren’t you?”

She turns a cartwheel, comes up and squeezes him again.  “Oh, you can tell, can you?”

Her joyful laughter fills the air, blending with the cry of the immortal eagle soaring out over the bright waters of the lake.  Bronson feels his chest tighten both in response to his wife’s beauty and with the faintest touch of fear.

Sitting in her office, mechanically responding to queries in her e-mail, Vera jumps when the knock sounds on her door.  For a moment she considers not answering.  Then she feels a sudden thrill of emotion.  Maybe it is…

“Come in!”

She swivels her chair, unaware that a touch of rose has risen to her coppery cheek, knowing that her breathing has quickened and struggling to slow it.  When she sees that her visitor is Amphitrite, she feels unreasonably disappointed.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything too important,” Amphitrite says.

“No, just answering routine queries—mostly for copies of the sessions or for the resolutions.  Nothing that won’t wait.”

Her heart has stopped thudding now, but irrationally, Vera struggles against a sense of expectancy.  She gestures toward one of the taupe chairs.

“Make yourself comfortable.”

“Thanks.”  Sitting, Amphitrite toys with the end of one blond lock.  “Want to go to South America with me?”

“Me?”

“You.”  Amphitrite leans forward.  “I know a great deal about the world under the waters, but I know very little about the politics of the land.  Their very passion for the issues distorts the South American contingent’s presentation.  I would like to have a more objective point of view along.”

“But you will have Lovern.”

“He is
not
objective.  Although he stays in the background, Arthur’s policies are his policies.”

“I’m on Arthur’s side, too,” Vera reminds her.

“As are Duppy Jonah and I, but there is a difference between agreeing that someone is the best ruler and agreeing with all of that person’s policies.”

“True.”

“And, honestly, I am not overly fond of Lovern.  For too long I have known him mostly through his public role and through my husband’s resentment of his trespass into our realm.”

Vera taps a few keys, sending off another burst of electronic information.  “The sea is a big place.  Lovern may have felt Duppy Jonah’s control extended only to what he could govern at a given time.”

“I am certain that he did,” Amphitrite says.  “I was small fry in those days.  Duppy Jonah was the Midgard Serpent, however, and recently defeated.  Lovern took advantage of that.  Had he been chivalrous to a defeated foe, I might feel differently.”

“I can understand your point of view.”

“You are of Arthur’s party,” Amphitrite continues.  “You know the full reasons for his stance on certain issues.  I would feel better advised if you were along.”

“The South Americans might not like it.”

“Tough.  I am a reigning monarch.  I am entitled to whatever entourage I choose.  Besides, they may enjoy the opportunity to indoctrinate you.”

Vera smiles a bit wryly at such arrogance coming from what to all appearances is a blond beach bimbo.

“True.”

“And I thought that you might enjoy an excuse to get away.”

“Why?”  This last comes out more defensively than Vera had intended.  She softens her tone.  “I mean, now that the Review is over, things will quiet down.  I can return to my weaving.”

“I thought that the absence of a certain person might haunt the hacienda.”

“You mean the Changer?”

“Yes.”

“I told you…”

“I saw your expression at the lunch table.  Anyone with less self-control would have shouted aloud in protest.  You managed to keep silent, but I saw, just as I saw your eagerness when you thought that you might have excuse to visit him.”

“I…”

“Why do you so struggle to deny it, Vera?  The Changer is a powerful entity and, whatever his shape, he is all male.  I knew your father.  There are certain similarities.”

“Are you saying I’m looking for a father figure!”

“I am not.  What I am saying is that often we are attracted to those who possess qualities we have admired in others.”

“I did not precisely admire my father.”

“You did not admire his womanizing, but you must admit that there was much to admire otherwise.”

“I cannot deny that.”  Vera crosses her arms over her breasts and frowns.  “Why are you harping on this?  Let us hypothetically say that I am attracted to the Changer.”

“Hypothetically.”

“What would I do?  He is happiest as an animal.  I am human-form and have always been so.  I cannot be a raven or a wolf or a coyote.  I am a woman—a woman of many appearances, true, but just a woman.”

Amphitrite nods.  “That is a difficulty.  However, unless you broach the subject, he will not even consider it.”

“Am I so unappealing?” Vera looks sad.  “It has been long since any paid me court.”

“How long since you invited it?” Amphitrite counters.  “Among our people, your celibate status is accepted.  Even the great womanizers have given up the conquest.”

Remembering a few long-ago courtships, Vera manages a smile.

“And,” Amphitrite continues, “you do not mingle much with human folk.  Look at you now—living in this hacienda with two of the great misogynists of our people.”

“Eddie likes women!”

“I meant Arthur and Lovern.  Perhaps misogynist is too strong a term, but neither of them has had the greatest luck with their womenfolk.”

“They don’t trust those of our kind—not after what happened between Louhi and Lovern.”