Changer (Athanor) (51 page)

The young sasquatch considers checking her e-mail or looking in at the Moderator’s chatroom.  Neither satisfies her completely.  Instead she drifts out into the living room.  The tables, beautiful things she made out of slices cut from giant forest trees and polished with beeswax, are covered with books and magazines on New Mexico.

She picks one up and looks into the face of a Pueblo girl of about twelve.  What would that girl think if she met Rebecca or Bronson?  Would she feel that her horizons had just opened wider or would she be terrified at the knowledge that monsters far more solid than her people’s kachina gods walk the Earth?

Rebecca cannot decide.  Outside she can hear Bronson humming to himself as he stretches mink pelts on drying racks.  He has been much encouraged to learn that even if the first world fur market is falling off, furs remain popular in other countries.  

The athanor eagle screeches and dives for a fish just a few feet outside of the concealed window.  The spray catches a few rays of sunlight and sheds rainbows that gladden her heart.

“Bronson,” she calls out, “can I bring you anything?”

“Coffee,” his gruff voice answers, “and a look at your smile.”

“Coffee?” Eddie asks Anson.  “The pot in the kitchen was fresh, so I filled a thermos.”

“Did you think to bring cream and sugar?”

“Of course.  I know you of old.”

“Then definitely, and if you reach behind my seat, you will find a box of donuts,” Anson chortles.  “I knew we might have a long vigil, so when I went to get petrol, I got supplies.”

Eddie leans back and snags the box.  They had arrived at the turnaround on the shoulder of the road a few minutes before.  Anson had scouted and reported that he couldn’t tell whether or not the Changer had already been there.

“How can you tell when the tracks of any wild thing
or
human-type person might be his?” he had said reasonably.

He had cached their message beneath the rock that had been appointed for this purpose and returned to the van.

“How long should we wait?” Anson asks, brushing powdered sugar off the front of his shirt.

“Until dawn, I think,” Eddie answers.  “Arthur can reach us by the car phone if there is a change in the situation.”

“Hopefully, we will not need to wait so long,” Anson stretches, cracking his neck and popping his shoulders.  “I had wanted to watch a talk show tonight.”

“Did you set your recorder?”

“I forgot.”

“Let’s call and have Arthur do it.  He’ll be horrified that we’re thinking such mundane thoughts in the midst of a crisis, but that will be good for him.  He sometimes forgets that all the world does not prioritize as he does.”

Anson places the call and, after he has hung up, he grins at Eddie, his white teeth the most visible part of his face in the gathering darkness.

“He was horrified, as you said, but he promised.  I wonder how you have worked with such a serious one for so long.  You are not nearly so dry.”

Eddie sighs.  “I don’t know about that.  There are times I think I am even more staid than Arthur.  He leads.  I serve.  I’m not certain how much glory there is in such a life.”

Anson reaches for another donut—his fourth.  “Is there anything else you would rather do?”

“I want a challenge,” Eddie says, “a new land to discover, a good fight to win.”

“And you do not find the challenge that, say, the South Americans offer, one that stirs your blood?”

“Not really.”  Eddie rubs his hand along his jaw.  Anson can hear the rasp of the whiskers.  “I’d love to be an astronaut, but the physical exam is the one thing I cannot risk.  I’d pass it—that’s certain—but there is too much chance they would find anomalies in my blood.”

“Too true.”

“Even mercenary work is no longer a place for anonymous service.  I’ve thought about looking into the Foreign Legion, but fighting isn’t what I want.  I want a challenge.”

“No one to love?”

“Not now.”

“That Vera—she would be a challenge.  Could you teach that virgin to love like a woman?”

“That’s rude, Anson!  She’s entitled to her choice.”  Eddie chuckles.  “In any case, she’s a tough lady.”

The Spider smiles.  “I was just looking for a challenge for you, my friend.”

“How do you fill your time?”

“Africa has many problems, many wars, much political maneuvering.  It is an entire continent of puzzles to be solved.”

“You don’t speak up for Africa as Isidro and Co. did for South America.”

“The problems there are people problems, in large part.  I enjoy those types of problems, but I do not think that they can be solved by outside intervention.”

“Except by yours.”

“I am not an outsider.  I was born there.  Many tribes still tell the stories of how Anansi the Spider brought the people gifts from the Creator.  Other stories make Spider the creator of all.  It is very heartening.”

Eddie reaches for a donut.  “You’ve eaten most of these!”

“My appetite is also legendary.  Don’t worry.  There’s another box.”

“And my legend is almost forgotten except by scholars.”  Eddie sighs.  “Enkidu the Wildman is viewed as a prototype for Tarzan and Mowgli.  Most modern treatments of Arthurian legend leave Bedivere out completely in favor of a love triangle that didn’t happen quite that way.  Forget the rest.  I have always been a shadow.”

“You are sad, eh?”

“Discouraged.  More coffee?”

“That would be very fine.  I have decided, Eddie.  However this all turns out, you are coming to Nigeria with me.  Lovern will owe us favors immense.  If he can give a mermaid legs, then he can work a charm so that you will be as dark as me.”

“But Arthur…”

“Arthur will manage.  Think about it as much as you like.  In the end, I will not give you a choice, huh?”

Eddie laughs.  “Tell me about modern Africa.  Even for athanor there are only twenty-four hours in a day.  I’ve been remiss regarding the Dark Continent.”

“Ah, you will regret asking this, my friend,” Anson reaches behind his seat, his long arm bending at what seems impossible angles.  He comes out with a box of chocolate-frosted cupcakes.  “I have stories, and stories about stories.”

“And we,” Eddie says, reaching for a cupcake, “have a long wait in front of us.”

Two hours past midnight, Eddie and Anson are playing a lazy game of foreign-language hangman by flashlight when there is a thump on the roof of the van.  A moment later, a large raven, something white in its beak, flaps onto the hood where it stares back at them like a distorted hood ornament.

“Anomaly.”  Eddie shakes his head.  “Ravens don’t fly by night.”

“This one does,” Anson says, getting out and opening the back door of the van.  “Come in, Changer.”

The raven flies in and lands on the floor.  Dropping the folded sheet of paper, it croaks hoarsely.  Then with a blur of motion, the strong, lean, dark-haired human form of the Changer is sitting cross-legged before them, clad only in his long hair.

“Your note says that Arthur needs to speak with me.”  His voice is gravelly, his speech hesitant, as if during his few days in the wild he has forgotten how to use his voice.

“That’s right,” Eddie says.  “We have big trouble.”

Economically, he outlines the situation, helped by the fact that the Changer does not interrupt, only listens, his yellow eyes widening slightly in reaction to the enormity of what Isidro and his allies have dared.

“And Arthur wishes me to speak with my brother, to beg forbearance.”  The Changer frowns.  “I must have full freedom to make whatever deals I wish.”

“Arthur can tell you what is beyond his power to grant.”

“Tell him what I have said.”

“Aren’t you coming with us?”

The Changer tilts his head, as a bird might when orienting on a sound.  “My daughter is alone out there.”

“I see.”  Eddie chews his upper lip.  “I had forgotten that she doesn’t fly.  Can you leave her for a few days?”

“No, she is too young to support herself, even if her education had not been retarded.”

“Can one of us fetch her?”

“I hope not.  I have been trying to instill caution.”

“How long will it take you to get her and return here?”

“Until midmorning.  I can get to her fairly swiftly, but the return will be slow.”

“Is there any road closer?”

“No.”

“Then midmorning it will have to be.”

Unlike Arthur, who might have argued, both Eddie and Anson have been fathers.  They know the responsibility that the Changer has assumed and respect it.

“Tell Arthur, my terms or none.  Get me a plane ticket to Brazil, fastest route.  Duppy Jonah will be in those waters.”

“A private plane might be better,” Anson says.  “There is an airfield here that might rent one.”

The Changer scratches.  “I cannot fly one, and I cannot promise patience with a pilot.”

Anson grins.  “I can pilot.”

“And a copilot?” Eddie asks.

“Work out those details without me,” the Changer says, getting out of the van, “and be here by nine o’clock.  I will try to be here by then.”

Without another word, he shifts shape, becoming something with broader wings than a raven’s.  When his form is blocked out against the starlit sky, Eddie sighs.

“Anomaly.  Again.”

Anson starts the engine.  “At least he is working with us.  He could have refused.  This is none of his problem.”

“No”—Eddie’s expression is thoughtful—“but he has not given up his vengeance on those who killed his mate and Shahrazad’s brothers and sisters.  Even though he has the papers he needs to pass in human society, he knows he may still need us.  He wants us to owe him a few favors.”

“The favors
that
one would need,” Anson says with a shudder, “I do not like to think about.”

“Neither do I,” Eddie replies.  “Neither do I.”

19 

There are bad people who would be less dangerous if they were quite devoid of goodness.

—La Rochefoucauld

R
esolve is one thing, effecting that resolve is another.  Therefore, it is a new dawn before Amphitrite and Vera can depart from where they were marooned.