Andrew Mayden

by Andrew Mayden

 

He had been Hamlet and Lancelot. He had been Abraham Lincoln and Luke Skywalker. Now he was just a tired young man sitting hunched in his saddle on an ill-conceived plan with nearly forgotten goals.

Julian Ren was a proud son from the illustrious city of Dirden. A month past saw him a rising star in the Red Mask League. He had been an actor. It was not just his profession, but his calling. He was a story teller that carried on the traditions of the Old World, a world that had long since passed into myth. These tales had been passed on through the ages by oral tradition. And he played the characters that lived in the hearts of the people. He was the caretaker of heroes. It was he who was tasked with defending culture in a world preoccupied with more mundane matters.

The horses hooves cracked a steady rhythm on the hard track of earth. Rain had been unusually sparse this spring and the ground was hard, and very dry. The sound echoed up and down the narrow valley, bouncing off the wall of eroded rock on one side, and over the rolling hills on the other. The path had once been a major thoroughfare through this checkerboard of pastures and farmlands. A few feet below the surface of the soil was the cracked and crumbling tarmac, one of the last remnants of an ancient civilization.

The lone rider sat hunched in his saddle. The long road had worn the young man’s usually robust posture and bent him into something he no longer recognized. Julian carried few possessions on his journey. A backpack filled with dried meats and fruit. A water skin slung over his shoulder. And a long-bladed knife hung at his hip. The young man didn’t look like the type who was comfortable wielding a knife, especially in a fight. Still, like most men living in this sad age, if backed into a corner, he would be more than capable of defending himself.

As he rode, he thought of the chain of events that led to him leaving Dirden. The trope’s playwright was a young man of considerable charm named Soren Waine. Soren had delicately arranged features, a long slender nose and high cheekbones. His skin was fair, with just a slight dusting of freckles. And his hair was a beautiful ginger. Julian admired the man for his talent, but it was his charisma that made him an effective leader.

Julian’s recalled the night he had told Soren he was leaving the troupe. The two men lay in bed. The last remnants of winter clung to the evening so they held one another under thick blankets. A fire crackled nearby. Both men starred into it. Soren’s long arm wrapped around Julian’s shoulder. It was a peaceful moment, soon to be disturbed.

Julian whispered the words, as doing so would ease their cutting edge. “I’m leaving Soren. I need to be away from here, away from you. I need to take a sabbatical.”

Soren was furious. They argued. The tension was palpable. The troupe had invested a lot of time and money in developing Julian’s image and persona. And it was finally starting to pay off. People recognized the young actor on the streets. His name alone was enough to draw crowds some from as far away as the city of Gall.

Julian however, wasn’t sure what he wanted. He felt smothered. His life was lived in a fish bowl, everyone could stare in at him. He had an urge to get out and expand his world view, maybe spend some time working in another city. Somewhere they didn’t know his name. He wanted to grow as an actor and an artist.

“Are you tired of being Lancelot?” The playwright asked him after the yelling had ended. His voice was just tired now.

Julian smiled a sad smile and said, “I will always be Lancelot. I’m just not your Lancelot, at least not for now. But I will come back some day.” And it was a promise he still intended to keep.

*

Far in the distance, through a break between two grassy knolls, Julian saw massive steel spires. It reminded him of bones. Skeletal fingers reaching up to the sky. In reality they were a rib cage of steel girders and I beams caked with corrosion and rust. Seeing that fabled city for the first time, he reigned in his horse and took in the view.

From the few surviving historical texts (as well as the oral traditions passed down through the generations) that city was once a major city in the Old World. It was named Saint Louis after a great military leader.

Nobody alive could comprehend. People think in terms of a few cities, a few villages, but there is a whole world out there that died. How far does it stretch? How many dead cities? How big is the corpse?

A wind swept down through the cleft in the hills, unseasonably cool. Julian to shudder. Hairs rose on the back of his neck. The stories that came from that place were too horrible to imagine. No one had set foot there for hundreds of years, as the air and soil were poisonous. The ancient city was a forbidden land. Julian was a healthy distance away, yet the dread that hung over that land could still be felt. It cautioned him from taking even a single step closer. He sat on his pony, rooted in place as much by fear as by anything else.

Once, years ago he had met a man who emerged from the Forbidden Zone. The man had been a treasure hunter searching for the fabled wealth of the Old World. Some of the artifacts were even said to be magical. At the time Julian felt a kinship with those treasure hunters, big risks earned great rewards. It was something Julian could understand. And what better reward was there than the lost treasures of the Ancients? However, seeing the man that stumbled into his village that day, ended any sense of wonder he might have once felt about the old cities.

The traveler was a mutilated lump of puss and flesh, wracked by constant pain beyond what any human should have to endure. His skin was blistered and cracked, his hair had mostly fallen out leaving only thing clumps. Then there were his eyes. Gray and dull like a fog choked morning.

The man died within days of stumbling into the village.

Julian shuddered at the memory. And to think, that poor wretch of a man had emerged from the city he now lay eyes on.

He turned his horse north and continued his journey.

*

A plain of grass lay before him. On the horizon Julian could just make out the rambling palisades that sketched the outline of Boulder Ridge. A pall of smoke hung over the industrial city. The soot low in the sky. Julian heard tales of acid rain. He didn’t believe it, things like that had a way of being exaggerated. But seeing it now, Julian began to wonder if those rumors might actually be true.

Just as he was ready to kick his pony into motion, he noticed a wisp of smoke rising from behind a ridge east of his position. This was much smaller, and much closer. It might be a farm. The idea of a hot meal and a warm bed called to him. He could offer his services to the farmer in exchange for fresh supplies. He loathed the idea of physical labor, but if it meant a hearty meal, he would do it.

After a ride through a narrow gully littered with cracked asphalt and the ruins of concrete foundations, he came upon a dirt trail that led to a small creek. He paused to listen to the water that ran along beside the ancient highway. A sound startled him. From the brush along the trail a figure emerged to block his path. Julian knew he was about to meet the owner of the farm beyond the ridge.

The man was not what he was expecting. He was young, probably the same as Julian, somewhere in his late twenties, although he appeared older due to unruly hair and a short-cropped beard that covered his narrow face. The man wore a cloak of animal pelts. He held a long bow. Arrow nocked. A quiver hung from his hip.

Julian held the reigns, steadied the horse. “Whoa there,” he said calming his mount, then turned to face the newcomer, “I wasn’t expecting anyone this far out. Your farm is over that ridge, am I right?” Nothing. The man only gave him a flat gaze. Julian tried a different tactic. “My name’s Julian. I’m glad to finally see another person. I’ve been riding for weeks now and I’m in desperate need of food. Anything you can spare.” The man’s icy gaze still gave nothing away, Julian tried once again, taking the silence as a sign of displeasure. “I can work for the food,” he said. “And any chores you need done around your farm, I’m your guy.” He gave the strange man a disarming smile.

The man returned a penetrating look. His gaze was simultaneously intense and passive. Nonthreatening, yet measuring, weighing Julian by some unknown criteria that he could only guess at.

At last the man spoke. His words were soft belying his hard appearance. “Enoch. And I am not a farmer.”

“Ah. Well. That’s fine then. There’s not a lot of money to be made in farming anyway,” Julian said with another attempt at a disarming smile. “If you don’t mind my asking, what are you doing this far out?”

“Grassman.” As if that explained anything. “Come.”

Enoch took the pony by the reigns and led them down the trail. By the time they reached the source of the smoke, it was early evening. When they rounded a bend in the road he saw the structure for the first time. It was a hovel built on one end of a small vale. The hut was low to the ground, crouched near the stream. The home (if it could even be called that) was made of wood and thatch. It would be difficult, though not impossible for him to stand up straight. A circle of stones surrounded a small fire pit out front. That was the origin of the smoke. A variety of alien objects lay scattered around the vicinity. Most were rusted twists of metal. All appeared to have originated in the Old World.

Julian suddenly felt a chill that had nothing to do with the dropping temperature.

The Grassman gestured for Julian to dismount, which the saddle weary actor did with a grunt of relief.

“I hope it won’t be inconvenient for me to stay with you.” Julian appraised the shanty with some chagrin. Apparently, there was no warm bed in his immediate future after all. However, he still had high hopes for the hot meal.

“You can stay,” Enoch said. He tied the reigns to a hitch near the creek.

The two young men stepped inside the hut. Julian noticed more of the old objects scattered haphazardly about. Most were small and showed signs of rust and wear. However, the items appeared to be well cared for.

Julian broke out in a cold sweat. He knew the stories, he knew what happened to the Ancients and why their cities were destroyed. He backed away, not wanting to be in the same room as these cursed artifacts.

Enoch looked at him.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Julian said diplomatically. “I just prefer to keep my distance from things I know came from the Forbidden Zones.”

The hermit smiled. “Electricity is not what killed them, nor was it the reason they destroyed their cities. You have nothing to fear.” That was more words than Julian had heard the man string together at one time. It seemed he was unaccustomed to guests, but Enoch did seem to have a warm soul. Then Enoch walked over to what appeared to be an artificial flower. It had petals, although they were larger than any flower Julian had ever seen before. He flipped a toggle on the stem, and the petals began to spin creating a gentle breeze.

Julian crawled out of his skin. He recoiled as if slapped. This is how the Ancients died. They created power they could not control.

“Be at ease.”

Julian closed his eyes and felt the cool wind on his sweat drenched face. “What um, what powers the machine?” Julian asked.

“Magic.” Enoch’s answer sent a fresh wave of chills down Julian’s spine. Then the Grassman smiled at seeing the other man’s discomfort. “Don’t worry. It is not Tainted.”

“What do you call that thing?” Julian asked.

“The Ancients called it a Dyson.”

Julian looked around at the other objects, wondering what sort of devices they were. What was their function? How much power was stored here, in the care of this singular young hermit? Julian could only wonder.

He approached one object. It was a white box. Sealed. And had a single eye protruding from center. He reached out his hand but dared not touch it. This is what killed an entire civilization, best leave to it alone. He pulled his hand back.

The machine was a devil device. It sensed his presence and came alive on its own. There was a hum and whirl within the contraption. A ghostly image of a man appeared before him. The man was tall, young, and formed from glowing blue light.

Julian screamed.

“What can I help you with, sir?”

Julian stared at the ghost. “What are you?”

“I’m the local sales representative for this Alienware branch.” The ghost smiled. He seemed completely unaware of Julian’s fear. “What kind of device are you looking for?”

“I don’t know.” Julian shook his head.

The ghost smiled. A winning smile. “Then in that case, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m an actor.”

“Ah! A role player!” The ghost clapped his hands. “Alliance or Horde?”

Julian stared, speechless.

“Never mind. You look Alliance. I can always tell.” The ghost change posture, directing a change in conversation. Whatever this demon was, he was good with people. “For any serious gamer, I recommend the Commander X. It’s our flagship model. Solid state drive. Quad processor. One terabit memory. Dual core video card. That’s our newest feature. It basically serves as two video cards, one to process graphics, the other to process the interface.” The ghost grinned. “You’ll be the envy of all your friends with this baby. I can promise you that.”

Julian shook his head. He suddenly felt very tired. He stumbled backward, tripping over a pile of scrap metal. When he hit the ground, the demon flickered, then disappeared. He turned to Enoch.

The strange man smiled that strange smile.

*

Night quickly fell over the vale when the sun dipped below the ridge. The stars came out. The two men sat down to supper. It was a stew Enoch had prepared. Rabbit, potatoes, carrots.

They ate in silence. Julian was growing accustomed to the quiet. It was Enoch that spoke first. “What city do you come from?”

“Dirden,” Julian answered, his tone quiet.

“You are far from home,” Enoch observed.

“I’m tasked for Boulder Ridge.” A pause. “I needed to get away for a while. Things were too cramped in Dirden. I was suffocating.”

“The air in Boulder Ridge is no better.”

Julian laughed. “That’s not what I mean. I was smothered by the people back home. They wanted things from me. Things I wasn’t sure I could give.”

Enoch looked into the small fire that crackled between them. “I was talking about people as well.”

Julian looked up sharply. This odd man from the wilds was not what he had expected. He was expecting an uneducated farmer who wouldn’t know how to read and write, but what he got instead was a collector of Ancient objects. A man who knew how they worked and was enlightened enough to know not to fear them out of hand.

The Grassman looked up from the fire and gave Julian an appraising look, as if deciding whether or not he worth adding to his collection of oddities. “What was your job back in Dirden?” Enoch asked.

“I was an actor,” Julian shrugged. “I guess I still am. I played the part of the hero in most of the performances we put on. I was pretty good.” He smiled. No need to be modest. “I was really good, actually. But things got complicated. I needed to get out.” Again, only silence between them. The mysterious side of Enoch was back. Watching, but giving nothing away. “As Lancelot it was I who seduced the beautiful Guinevere. I betrayed my Lord and dear friend and took his wife into my bed.” He laughed at Enoch’s flat stare. “Yeah. I thought you would say that. Her name is Eliza. She played Guinevere in the Arthurian Romances. I was a rising star, you see, but so was she. After the play one night, we were heady from the performance, not to mention the wine.” He laughed. No real humor. “And I bedded her.”

Enoch nodded as if this revelation came as little surprise to him.

“She was everything to me: my wife, my sister, my mother, my mistress. She was Lady Macbeth and Princess Leia. She was Guinevere and Bella Swan.” Julian stared into the small fire, eyes unfocused as he spoke. “And I was also Soren’s lover, you see. So, in a way I betrayed the director as Lancelot betrayed Arthur. That’s why I had to leave.”

Enoch stoked the fire with a dry stick. A spray of sparks flew into the night sky. Julian’s face was clouded with emotion. He had bared his soul to this wild man for some reason. He needed to tell someone.

At last Enoch spoke. When his words came they were measured and even, a far cry from the emotional outpouring of the young actor. “Tomorrow morning, I will begin teaching you.” His tone made it clear this was not open to discussion. It was a statement of purpose. “I will show you how to find inner peace, something you desperately need. At the same time, you will acquire a new skill. It will serve you well in your profession. I can’t imagine many actors have the Gift.”

Julian looked up from the fire. His face crumpled from exhaustion. “What’s that?”

“Something left behind by the retreating tide,” Enoch said with a level stare.

*

When the sun crested the hills, Enoch woke Julian and led him to the bank by the stream. A broken shelf of rocks rose from the surface of the water. Dirt banks struggled to contain the volume of early summer flow. Crystal clear water rushed quickly through the cleft in the earth.

Julian was directed to sit cross legged on a carpet of grass beside the hermit. “Why did we have to start so early?” Julian grumbled, wiping sleep from his eyes with the heel of his hand.

Enoch ignored him. “A thousand years ago the Earth changed, it went through a transformation beyond anything the Ancients could have imagined. Some of them left the Earth for other realms. Some stayed behind. Those that stayed watched the Earth open in repudiation of the sins they had committed. The wars they had waged cost billions of lives and nearly destroyed our race. Now, in penance for our sins, we have become custodians of something much more sacred than the machinations and businesses of mankind. Much more valuable than material wealth. I will show you the power of the Earth herself.”

His gaze played over Julian’s body. “Sit up straight,” he commanded. “Rest your hands on your knees.”

Julian did as instructed. A small smile came to him. This was not what he was searching for, but he decided to humor the strange man. After all, he still needed the supplies.

“Now, breath. Slow and steady. Take a breath in, hold it, then exhale.” Enoch demonstrated. Julian copied. Suddenly Enoch lashed out with his lanky arm, striking Julian in the side. “Sit up! Back straight.”

Julian’s smile became a scowl.

“Breath,” Enoch said. “Again. Good. Now I will teach you a magic word. These words have power in the Old Tongue, the language still spoken by the Earth. Om mani padme hum. Say it. Om mani padme hum.”

“Om mani padme hum.”

“Good. Now repeat it as many times as you must. Don’t stop. Let it fill your mind. Think only that one phrase.”

Julian rolled his eyes beneath closed eyelids. He was glad the odd hermit couldn’t see the gesture. “Om mani padme hum,” he said. He continued chanting the words just as the Grassman instructed.

“Back straight. Sit still.” He felt thin hands rap the side of his head. As he chanted the mantra again and again, over and over, his mind wandered. He recalled Eliza’s face. That bright coltish face, framed perfectly by jet black hair. He recalled the way she smiled at him when they made love that cold winter night not so long ago, yet seemingly in another lifetime. He recalled her soft frame pressed against him afterward.

“Stop!” the bark startled him. “Clear your mind. You are wandering. Now say the words again ten more times. Count them as you speak. Think nothing else.”

Julian said the magic phrase again. Ten more times, just as he was told. He had no idea what the power of these words were but felt confident that nothing special would happen. Certainly not anything magical. After the tenth time Enoch commanded him to do it again. This time counting backwards from ten. Julian did. When he finished he fell silent but maintained his rigid posture. His breaths came in shallow draws. Slow and purposeful.

“Satisfactory,” Enoch said. He was watching Julian closely, but his expression gave nothing away. “Rest now.” And then the strange man with his strange rhythms was gone, leaving Julian to listen to the babble of the creek and wonder where his life went wrong.

*

They ate a lunch of steamed fish and vegetables. It was healthy, clean and fresh, and it did nothing to improve Julian’s mood. He was in a dark place, had been since the scandal back home. Now he wondered what brought him out here in the first place. Was it really to see more of the world as he had told Soren, or was it to run away?

He wasn’t sure anymore.

“You did well,” Enoch said, not looking up from his meal.

“What?”

“The words. When you said them, you let go of your worldly concerns.”

“It didn’t feel that way.”

“You did.” There was no hesitation in Enoch’s voice. He was absolutely one hundred percent certain of everything he said.

And it was starting to grate of Julian’s nerves. He shook his head and sighed.

“You don’t believe, do you?” The old hermit looked at him.

Religion. Julian shrugged. “I’m not sure if there’s some higher power, if that’s what you mean, or if all this matters in the grand scheme of things.”

Enoch fell silent. Julian didn’t want to end the conversation just yet. He asked something that had been on his mind. “How do your machines operate? I mean, I thought they used a power that we no longer had.”

Enoch chewed his vegetables and collected his thoughts before answering. “The power of the Earth is still here,” he said. “It’s all around us, in the ground, in the air, even inside life itself.” He paused. “Magic words draw that power out, pulls it out of the hidden places.”

“And does what with it?”

“Makes it useable.”

Julian shook his head. “I’m not following.”

Enoch gestured to the land around them. “The hills over there, the plains beyond, the creek behind us, even the logs we’re sitting on, contain a power. Magic connects it all. Let’s us use it.”

Julian was awed. “So, you can draw power from the earth, and then what? The fan will just turn on.”

Enoch nodded.

“You mentioned the energy inside life.”

“Yes. There is an energy inside plants and living creatures. It can be used as well.”

“So you can convert my fear into the energy that the ghost needed to appear and talk to me.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s why I felt so tired afterward. You used my energy to power that contraption.”

“You are a quick learner.”

Julian smiled. Then it changed to a scowl. He didn’t like being so vulnerable. “What magic word did you use to pull off that little trick?”

“Attende Domine.”

*

“Now you are ready.” Enoch’s tone was quiet, not harsh as it had been before. “Sit as you did before. Eyes closed, clear your mind, and speak the magic words. But this time I want you to picture an animal. The first image that appears in your mind, hold onto it. This is the most difficult part so don’t be discouraged if you can’t form a solid image right away. You must find an image that works for you and hold it clearly in your head. That will be your focus.”

They were by the creek again, in the same location. This time Julian was more comfortable. This time Enoch didn’t hit him.

A wolf coalesced in Julian’s mind. It sat against the dark wine color of the inside of his eyelids. The wolf was white, raised on its back two legs, the front paws brandished wickedly curved claws. Where the image came from he had no idea, only that it was here and it was easy to maintain.

“Speak the magic words,” Enoch said. His voice sounding oddly distant, as if the words passed through a volume of water.

Julian spoke the words, chanting them as he had before. Om mani padme hum. The jewel of the lotus.

Suddenly the image of the wolf disintegrated. A dizziness swept over him. He reeled with vertigo. His mind spun in circles, he wasn’t sure if he lashed out or not, but when his eyes opened he saw tall grass around him. It was higher than he was.

He took a step forward and realized with a sudden clarity that he was standing. He couldn’t remember getting up. In fact, he couldn’t remember much. Only that he had been resting not long ago, but now he was up and alert. Not only was he standing, he realized that he was standing on four legs.

Julian looked around and realized why the grass was so tall. It’s because he was low to the ground. He was looking out from behind the cold eyes of a wolf. The beast trotted off, Julian’s mind in tow. The young man felt a surge of primal instinct take over. He was carried along on the same wave of impulses that directed the wolf’s movements.

The wolf’s trot became a run. He sped along the prairie. There was a fleeting scent on the wind, brief yet strong. It was the scent of an animal. Prey. He tore after it, eating the ground between them as if the terrain were a meal in and of itself. But the real feast would come at the end of this deadly race.

Julian felt the hunger. He could actually sense it through the bond he had with the animal. He felt the beasts hunger and that made him hungry. And he knew how to satiate it.

As the two of them sped along, Julian caught a whiff of rank odor and instinctively knew the direction. His attention was fixated on the target as was the wolf. The two minds fused into one. The rational part of Julian’s mind tried focusing on the surrounding environment, he wanted to know where they were. But the beast had other ideas, it was locked on the target and broached no distraction. Certainly not with something as mundane as relative location.

Julian stopped trying, he stopped caring where he was, he too became enthralled by the scent.

The wolf slowed to a brisk walk, then slowed again and finally crouched low as it crept through the prairie grass. The tall grass made for natural cover and the animal knew how to use it well. As he neared his prey Julian’s belly rumbled. The wolf’s nose poked through a tuft of brush and laid eyes on the target. It was a small deer. A fawn. Stubs of antlers poked from his tiny head.

Julian’s heart pounded in his chest. His mind sharp and focused.

The wolf sprang into action. In one bound it covered the distance and struck the young deer. Claws dug deep into soft flesh. The weight of the wolf shoved the small fawn down. Steely jaws clamped down on the animal’s neck. A squirt of blood gushed up over the snout of the wolf. It was warm and had the coppery taste of blood. Julian’s wide mouth smiled in savage pleasure at the kill.

The rest of the experience was washed out in a haze of primal pleasure.

*

Later, when the wolf was dozing and Julian was only vaguely aware of their surroundings, he sensed another creature approach. For some reason the wolf was not on alert, no fight or flight. The wolf slept, knowing it had company.

Some time later the wolf opened its eyes and Julian came fully awake with it. He saw through the wolfs eyes just like he had before. And this time the beast was looking at another wolf. The newcomer was female (Julian knew that although he didn’t know how he knew) and she was gnawing on the bones of the dead fawn.

Julian watched the she wolf eat. He felt something change in the wolf he was inhabiting.

The wolf growled. It was only perfunctory.

The female growled back and stood to face the male.

Then Julian was carried along once again. The wolf rose to face the female. He nipped at the she wolf. He was establishing his territory. But there was no aggression in the move, only an instinctiveness to go through the motions, to establish dominance.

The she wolf opened her mouth, showing fangs as if to say, do that one more time and you’ll get more than you bargained for.

The male was not one to back down. He snapped again at the female.

Crouched low, the two wolves circled one another. It was a game, Julian knew that. It was not aggressive. First the male would swipe with his claw. Then the female would smack him in the nose.

It wasn’t long before things progressed to the next level. The wolf leaped at the she wolf, his front legs knocking her down. She went willingly. He bit her neck, sinking his teeth in the thick skin.

She pushed herself to a crouch.

The male came behind her, front legs held her tight, and forced himself into her.

It was rough. A frenzy of fur and teeth and claws. And it was fast. She knocked him off. They circled each other some more. He was still hot. Aggressive. Violent. He attacked her again. Knocked her down. Forced himself into her.

Then the male finished and dismounted.

Moments later both wolves were asleep in the shade of small tree.

*

Julian’s mind swam back to consciousness. He moved sluggishly through a sea of fractured images and half formed urges. It was a terrifying sense of disembodiment. He saw disjointed images through the wolf’s eyes. They mixed with images from his own memory. Some of the sensations were not his, nor the wolf’s, rather they belonged to some third party.

At last his eyes opened. They blinked rapidly tearing up with pain, the sun burning his pupils. He felt like vomiting. Instead he just fell into a fit of coughing, yet even that brought the taste of bile to his mouth.

He found himself laying on the grass, sprawled out like a drunk man waking from a stupor. He was near the stream, but farther up from where he had begun his meditation. That morning felt so long ago, in another life. However, the sun sat above the trees on the opposite shore. It was late evening. Groggily he crawled to a sitting position. Grass and brambles clung to him. Sweat caked his armpits, making him sticky and rank.

A voice came from behind him. It was the Grassman and he sounded pleased. “Excellent progress Julian. For your first attempt that was amazing. You have the Gift, without a doubt.”

“What are you talking about?” Julian grumbled. His mouth was dry, yet the coppery taste of blood still lingered. It was decidedly unpleasant.

“Most people struggle to learn in a year what you managed to accomplish in one day.” His tone was more than pleased, it was downright self-satisfied.

“Happy your student did so well, huh?”

“That is a reflection on the teacher,” Enoch agreed without much humility.

“What happened to me?” Julian asked although he was only just beginning to understand the depth the experience.

“You became a wolf. That’s a powerful image. A sign of your strength.” The Grassman chuckled. “And perhaps your virility.”

Julian shook his head to clear the cobwebs. It was weird seeing the world through another creature’s eyes. He had to think about what Enoch was saying. Then the words the Grassman spoke finally sank in. “Wait. You said I became a wolf. You mean I shared a wolf’s senses?”

“No. I mean you transformed into a wolf. You became the animal.”

“That’s not possible.” Julian shook his head again. This time it was not to clear his mind, but in objection to the hermit’s statement. “I know what I felt. I felt instincts, another mind at work. That was not me.”

Enoch smiled patiently at the young novice. “That was your instincts. That blood lust was yours, that focus you had for your prey was you. All you. Only you.” He smiled patiently as if explaining something obvious to a very slow student. “People with this ability are called Skinwalkers. We few who are capable of this feat spend our whole lives exploring what it means to be alive. We master different forms. There is no limit. Oh, certainly each of us has an affinity for certain types of animals. I have always enjoyed existing as a bird.”

Julian’s chest tightened. Skinwalkers. He had heard that word, but thought they were only myths.

“Legend tells of a Skinwalker who can even become a tree.” Enoch’s tone was awe struck. “But don’t fret about such things. If you spend a lifetime trying to match that accomplishment and never manage it, you will be no worse than I.”

Julian spit. That coppery taste of blood lingering in his mouth was actual blood. Uncooked deer meat. He felt that urge to vomit again. Then he thought of the two wolves having sex. He tried not to imagine where his dick had just been. “I don’t believe you.”

“Why is it so hard for you to believe? After all, you have spent your adult life pretending to be someone else. Why not be an animal?”

“Because,” he broke off. “Because that’s just insane.”

“That’s nature,” Enoch said. “All of reality is one whole. One coherent, total whole. There are no distinctions, no separations such as distance between you and me. Think of it this way: the world is a blanket.” The odd hermit spread his lanky arms wide encompassing all he could manage. “You are one thread. This moment in our lives is one intersection of two threads.”

A crazy hermit as well as a self-appointed philosopher. Julian rolled his eyes and spat a glob of semi congealed blood.

“I think I’ll pack my things and be on my way,” Julian said crisply.

Enoch’s posture went rigid, as if struck physically by the words. “I offer to teach you what I know, the secrets of the universe, and you refuse my offer.”

Julian’s smile was as dry and as humorless as his mood. “I’m an actor, not a philosopher.”

“You are a man lost in the wilderness of existence. I am offering to be your guide.”

“I appreciate your hospitality, I really do,” Julian’s tone softened. He was grateful for the fire as well as the hot meal. “But my destination is the Academy in Boulder Ridge, not your spiritual plane.”

“I see.” The words were cold.

“One year hence I will come this way again,” Julian said diplomatically. “When I do, I promise to seek you out and to renew our friendship.” At that moment in time Julian believed the words he spoke. He had every intention of fulfilling his promise, just as he did the promise he made to Soren weeks before.

As he gathered his belongings, along with the rations Enoch could spare, a thought flitted through his mind. The image was a hawk, soaring high in the sky, flapping its wings lazily only once every hour. That was all it needed to stay adrift on the wind. Warm air filled its wings. Julian smiled despite himself. He could almost feel the warm air against his skin.

He realized he was running away as he always does. He ran away from his parents when he was young, he ran away from Soren and Eliza, and now from Enoch. It was the pattern of his life. Whenever he made progress, as he had been doing in Dirden, as he had today with the magic, he ran away before he it all came crashing down around him.

He turned back to the Grassman. “I can’t promise how long I will stay,” Julian said slowly. “But I want to see what else I can accomplish.” He was an actor, and now the whole world was his stage.

Copyright Andrew Mayden 2018