OF WOLVES AND MEN
"Whoa!" the caravan leader called, jerking her mounts to a halt. Her costume and her sunburst of golden curls gave Eric the impression of a Valkyrie moonlighting as a fortuneteller. "Hello, stranger," the woman boomed in a voice born for oratory. This had to be the ringmaster.
"Good afternoon," Eric answered, smiling and bowing (They do bow here, don't they? he wondered -- a little too late). "Where are you headed?" It seemed like a safe opening line.
"Birimi," the Valkyrie answered, and Eric spread his arms wide.
"Wouldn't you know, that's just where I'm going?"
"Uh huh." Sounding less than convinced, the ringmaster looked Eric up and down and let one corner of her mouth slip skyward. "Still, we are a bit shorthanded at the moment, and Birimi's a tough area. Convince me you're good for something."
Eric thought hard. "Well," he hedged, looking down the length of the caravan, "I see you've got several cages back there. I'm a...an animal tender by trade."
What he'd wanted to say was that he was a veterinarian, but the closest thing to that in the R2 language was "healer," and that was one gift he hadn't rolled. Still, "animal tender" didn't quite catch the sense of it, and the Valkyrie certainly didn't understand.
"Well," she nodded, narrowing her eyes, "that's something, at least. We can always use another pen mucker, and you look fit enough for construction work." She leaned down and stretched out her hand. "I'm Ilarro."
"Enric." A thrill passed through him at this first use of the new name; he'd carried in his head for years. Grasping the woman's hand, he shook it and opened his mouth to ask where he should ride.
But something was wrong; Ilarro hung suspended from her seat with one hand outstretched and a look of consternation on her face. She hadn't returned the handshake.
Uh oh, Enric thought. Had she really caught onto him this quickly? But how? Then he looked again at his hand and his stomach dropped. Wait a minute -- hadn't Mick had told him once that R2 denizens didn't shake hands? What Enric had taken for a formal greeting was no more than a hand-up into Ilarro's cart. He'd just made his first cross-cultural mistake.
Enric swallowed, wondering how badly he'd betrayed himself. Would the ringmaster still take him on?
At that moment, another voice broke into the conversation. "Here, boy," called an old man from the roof of a nearby cart. "Come up and sit with us. Wix likes to talk to strangers, don't you, Wix?"
An out-of-sight grunt was the only response, but it would serve well enough. Bowing quickly to Ilarro, Enric turned as if he hadn't understood her invitation and trotted toward the second cart. "Sorry, Lady," the old man called.
Although low to the ground, the new wagon was almost as big as a trailer; Enric thought it probably served double-duty as the old man's home. He climbed over the low railing and took stock of his fellow travelers. The old man, bald and wrinkled as a tortoise, hunched inside a black robe that somehow managed to look ancient, homely, and mysterious all at the same time. Next to him sat a girl in her late teens with round, pretty features and a rose painted on one cheek. And at the rear, arms folded across a dark, bare chest, loomed the most muscle-bound person Enric had ever seen. Even the man's earlobes looked toned. Some sort of strongman, Enric assumed, and wondered how his own new strength would measure up.
"Have a seat, son," the tortoise gestured, and Enric settled in beside him. "Name's Cantonicus. And this is my niece Vaesha." He patted the young woman's shoulder and she flashed a saucy smile. "Now, the skinny fellow in the corner," Cantonicus went on, "is Wix, and that's his partner Thowan at the reigns." Neither strongman deigned to speak, although Wix folded his arms across his chest and grunted slightly. Enric could have sworn he heard skin squeak.
His earlier embarrassment forgotten, he gave the strongman a cautious nod, then turned to the other two travelers. "I'm Enric," he smiled, "Pleased to meet you all."
Cantonicus pinned him with a sharp, dark gaze as the wagon lurched into motion. "So, boy," he said, fishing around in his pockets as he spoke, "I saw you running over the hills like the Furies was chasing you. What were you up to out there?" His scent shone bright with curiosity, overlaid with a hunger that set the werewolf's nerves on edge.
A sheepish laugh gave Enric the time he needed to come up with a response. "Well, I hate to admit it, but I was a little lost. When I heard the sound of your band, my first thought was that I'd been rescued."
"Funny place to go wandering," the old man commented blandly. He pulled out a handful of dark blue marbles and twiddled them between his fingers. "Where you from, then?"
Enric sifted his memories for a name from Mick's stories. "Telika," he said, hoping it made a reasonable response. Since he didn't know where he was now, he couldn't judge where he should be "from."
"Telika?" Cantonicus lifted bald brows in surprise. "I think we were out that way last fall, weren't we, Vaesha? It's a mighty long way from here, anyway -- especially for someone without a horse."
Enric coughed to cover his unease. "I had one," he improvised, "but it died...yesterday...fording a river." It was a lame and not entirely original excuse, but it was the best he could come up with on short notice. Enric cast his eyes down and prayed for a change of subject.
The old man seemed to read his mind. "A shame," he said dismissively, "but these things happen." The marbles danced across the tips of his fingers. "So tell me, kid, what was that weird hand-thing you did with the Lady up there?"
Fishing his memories for an excuse, Enric suddenly choked on the words. Cantonicus was still juggling, but the marbles had levitated up from his hand and bobbed now in midair above his twirling fingers.
"Just keeping the old digits in shape," Cantonicus drawled, as Enric tried to cover his surprise. "Now put your eyeballs back in your head, son; you act like you've never seen magic before." His tone was mild enough, but fresh excitement peppered his scent.
Enric was beginning to wish he'd sat with Ilarro. "Sorry," he murmured, trying to shrug away his discomfort. "I guess you just reminded me of something else."
The old man shrugged and looked away over Enric's shoulder, tracking the rolling hills, perhaps. Enric made a last-ditch attempt to steer the conversation onto safe ground. So," he said, "tell me about your act."
The tortoise face cracked into a grin.
They reached Birimi early that afternoon, and Vaesha took Enric down to meet the animal wranglers, leading him by the hand like a schoolgirl. Slightly embarrassed, he focused his attention on the beasts instead of the girl. The Lady's Band boasted twenty-five animals, each as fine and sleek a specimen as the rabbit he'd seen earlier. There were five lions, three tigers, two camels, a baby elephant, and an assortment of monkeys in brilliant rainbow hues. Still, the stars of the show -- at least in Enric's mind -- were a massive pair of white wolves.
The moment he saw them, pressing hard against the bars and whimpering with suppressed excitement, Enric forgot all about Vaesha. He barely felt his hand drop from hers, barely heard her introducing him to their trainer. Earlier that day, he'd thought Ilarro might be onto him, and later suspected Cantonicus of the same. But as for these beautiful creatures, there was no question about it: they knew exactly who -- and what -- he was.
"And these two" -- Vaesha's voice drifted through his thoughts like static -- "are Wind and Whisper." Almost in a trance, Enric reached out to the nearer wolf and stroked her muzzle. Her tongue curled out and she licked his fingers with an almost ladylike delicacy. Then she placed a paw on his wrist: again, an oddly human gesture. If only he were alone, Enric thought, he could shift to wolf form and talk to them.
And with that thought, the world swam back into focus. Vaesha's breath blew softly against his neck as she crowded his back. "Amazing," the girl murmured, darting quick glances back and forth between him and the wolves. "I've never seen them act that way around a stranger."
"Nor I," grunted the trainer -- had Vaesha said his name was Mil? Whoever he was, he practically bled annoyance through the pores. "It took them weeks to warm up to me."
Strike two, Enric thought. He dropped his hand and backed away from the cage. "I, uh, I've always been good with animals," he shrugged, and resisted the urge to reach for another handshake. "Pleased to meet you, Mil. I'm looking forward to working under you."
Mil favored him with a gruff nod. "Yes, well, we can always use another mucker." His eyes drifted back to his prize wolves, still clawing the cage bars in exasperation. "Think I'll put you in with the primates. Follow me."
The wolves whined even louder as Mil led him away, but there was nothing Enric could do. It seemed the trainer was every bit as territorial as his charges.
Much to Enric's surprise, it took a single afternoon for the carnies to turn an empty plain into a small but functional town. Of course, they did have access to a tool their R1 counterparts lacked: magic. Even Enric's assignment, assembling pens for the zoo tent, came with its own share of enchantment. The bars began as hanks of long, thin rope; but a tie-off and a good strong jerk turned them to solid iron. A wonderful process, Enric thought, pleased to be a part of it all. He stepped back frequently to admire his handiwork -- and to observe the other carnies at their jobs.
All across the midway it continued, this unique R2 combination of practice, sweat and magic. Cantonicus seemed to be a key player in the process, although he never physically touched a thing. Enric stared as the magician flung one swatch of canvas after another into the air, freezing them there while a second man maneuvered the poles beneath.
Vaesha, meanwhile, helped unload the costumes; while Ilarro strutted back and forth among the crowd, mostly giving orders, but never failing to lend a hand when needed.
The circus was complete by nightfall, and the exhausted carnies assembled in the mess tent for a meal. "Tired yet?" Vaesha asked, materializing at Enric's elbow as he waited in line. Her face was flushed, the rose on her cheek smeared half to obscurity, but still her eyes danced.
"I'll live," he smiled, wondering whether to attribute the excitement he smelled on her to himself or anticipation of tomorrow. "How about you?"
Vaesha blew her bangs aside and grinned. "Oh, I'm used to it. You're going to come see me and Uncle perform tomorrow, right?"
"You're part of the act?"
"Thought I just did costumes, didn't you?" She favored him with a glance that was pure tease, and Enric laughed.
"Vaesha," he said sincerely, "I didn't know what to think. So tell me, what else do you do -- magic?"
"Hmm, not exactly." Her eyes flickered at him again. "You'll just have to come and see -- if Mil will let you off, that is."
"And if he won't?"
She tossed her auburn curls. "I'll just make sure he does."
Enric didn't doubt her for a second.
Dinner was long and loud, with a full complement of songs, jokes and impromptu speeches. Ilarro ended the evening with a toast to the morrow, and then the carnies scattered to their beds. After a hard day of traveling and tent-building, no one cared to stay up any later.
For Enric, "bed" meant a hard straw pallet in the zoo tent -- an assignment he didn't dread nearly as much as Mil might have wished. After all, it was his first chance to be alone with the wolves. Even before he'd reached the tent flap, their scent drifted out to him like a warm greeting.
A chubby teen named Loren met him at the entrance; he'd held the night-watch post before Enric's arrival, and was only too glad to pass it on. "Enjoy," he muttered, and slipped out into the dark. Enric was alone with his charges.
For a moment he paused, content to let his gaze wander across the vast, dim maze of cages. For safety reasons, only a single torch burned in the tent; it sat in a stand not far from the empty pallet. But the building itself stretched nearly the length of a soccer field, with pens large and widely-spaced to allow the animals maximum comfort.
Enric didn't mind the lack of light. Being a veterinarian, he couldn't help but approve of the layout; and besides, he didn't need the torch any more than the wolves did. With that that thought, the underside of his skin began to itch, and he set off for the wolf pen at a lope.
Their white coats glimmered in the darkness as he pulled himself to a halt. Wind yelped a wolfish greeting, while Whisper scrabbled against the bars of the pen.
"Shhhh," Enric soothed, kneeling to stroke their muzzles. "It's okay; I'm here now." But the wolves continued to whine, and now the itch had spread to his bones. He held himself still and closed his eyes, sweeping the tent with fine-tuned senses to verify that they were alone. They were, but still he hesitated, remembering the morning's adventure. If the circus animals reacted as the rabbit had done, they might raise enough of an uproar to wake the carnies. Enric could end up running for his life -- not exactly what he'd hoped for his first night in R2.
Still, he'd come upon the rabbit by surprise, already in his wolf form, while these animals had spent an entire afternoon getting to know him. Wind and Whisper, too, were familiar faces to them; would a third wolf cause much of a stir?
Of course, thought Enric, the question was moot, because now that he stood here in front of the wolves, knowing he could change and actually talk to them, he jolly well wasn't going to pass on the opportunity.
Breathing a quick prayer for support, Enric gave in to the change -- slowly, so as not to alarm the nearby beasts. Before him, the white wolves stood rigid and trembling, eyes gleaming, ears pricked forward, shifting from paw to paw with anticipation. Behind him, the other animals snorted and scratched in their pens, aware that something strange was happening, even if they weren't sure what.
Enric halted the change at the halfway point and looked around. So far so good, he thought. The elephant had backed to the rear of its pen, but it was as much confused as worried, and didn't look ready to trumpet yet. He tried to make a soothing noise through his muzzle, but gave up when what came out sounded more like a growl than a purr. Best to concentrate on the wolves, he thought. He thought he could catch words through their whimpers now -- or, at least, something like words -- and their scents formed pictures in his head. Of course, it was all slightly blurred at this point; he'd have to complete the change to communicate fully.
Once more he paused, squeezing the pen bars so tightly that his claws pricked his palms. Even after he completed the change, he'd still be separated from the other wolves, a fact which seemed terribly unfair to Enric. But Mil hadn't trusted the newcomer with a set of keys, so what was he to do? Whisper laid a paw on his forearm, and as his eyes met hers, he was sure she understood the problem. Too bad she couldn't pick a lock, he thought.
And suddenly he smiled.
As the baby of the family, Eric Matheson had gotten away with more pranks than any of his four siblings. There'd been no joke he wouldn't pull, no secret he wouldn't steal -- especially if it belonged to either of his sisters. The memory embarrassed him now, of course, but when he was little, he'd taken special pride in being able to pick any lock in the girls' room. In fact, Malcolm, his oldest brother, still joked that if his veterinary practice didn't work out, Eric could always find work as a burglar. If he only knew, Enric thought, slipping a claw into the keyhole before him.
It was a simple lock -- and lucky for Enric, who wasn't experienced enough with R2 magic to know what could have happened. Silently the door swung wide, the wolves practically bowling him over in their eagerness. Enric pushed them back as gently as he could, then stepped into the cage himself and dropped to the floor, completing the change as he fell.
Wind and Whisper were on him in an instant, sniffing and tussling and rolling in the straw like puppies. And for the first time, Enric really heard the laughter in their voices -- and more. He still couldn't think of their communication as speech, and translating it into a recognizable human tongue was frequently impossible. The smell/sound/image cousin was clear enough, as was welcome, but how could he explain the layers of feeling beneath those human words? The awe of peasants before their king, the exuberance of school kids at recess, the curiosity of lovers on honeymoon night -- it was all there, and a dozen more sensations that had no analog. Gladly, Enric shucked off the last of his human reserve (something he'd never had much of, anyway) and abandoned himself to wolfdom.
They played together for a good ten minutes, then collapsed into a panting mound of fur. Master, Wind asked, trembling with hope and subservience, outdoors? Enric felt the animal's yearning, caught images of grass and trees, dark skies, huge moons, exotic smells and freedom, freedom, freedom! Idly he toyed with the idea, imagining the look on the carnies' faces as the three wolves raced through the camp and into the open field.
Of course, there were too many risk involved for him to assent: risk of being seen, risk of the animals escaping, risk of injuring themselves or others. After all, these two had been raised by humans; what good would they be in the wild?
The wolves accepted his no with simple sighs. There was no need for him to explain; to them, his word was law. Besides, what use were reasons to a beast? Instinct, not thought, ruled their lives -- and instinct told them that he was their master. The tent? Whisper tried hopefully, but again Enric said no. It probably would have been safe enough, but could he really afford the chance?
Silence fell as Enric tried to imagine what their lives must be like, locked up in one cage or another most of the time, and leashed when they weren't locked. The animals were well-fed and cared for, certainly, but did that make for an even trade? It was a question he asked himself once in awhile in his job as a veterinarian, but he'd never fully understood the implications before now.
There was no way to hide his thoughts from these two, so he put the question to them bluntly: Wolves happy?
Whisper lifted her head in surprise. With you, she answered simply. Every pore radiated contentment.
Enric flattened his ears in frustration. Before I here, he tried again -- wolves happy?
At this, both animals laid their muzzles on their paws and thought hard. They remembered the past, but only as a series of vague dreams. The present was all that felt real to them. But their king/cousin wanted an answer, so they pondered a moment and then presented him a jumble of images: eating, sleeping, rutting, performing, being praised, being punished. Life is what it is, they seemed to say. What does happiness have to do with it?
Enric sighed. It was all the answer he was going to get, but perhaps that was for the best. How would he have reacted if they'd told him they were miserable? Would he have felt obligated to free them?
Sensing his confusion, Whisper jumped up and climbed onto her hind legs. Look, she yipped. And as Enric watched, she began to walk around the pen, waving her forepaws as delicately as an orchestra conductor. Wind joined her after a moment, pressing his paws to hers in imitation of a canine waltz.
Enric was impressed. Most animals -- and most trainers -- wouldn't have the skill to pull off a trick like that. But the wolves weren't done yet. Next came a series of leapfrog maneuvers, first over-back, then under-belly. These built into a more complex routine, including hind-leg-stands, acrobatic jumps, and balancing atop one another. The performance culminated with Wind on his back, legs upstretched to hold Whisper, who balanced on his paws.
Enric, who had never seen anything like it, found his tail wagging without any conscious effort. Loosing a volley of barks, he jumped on top of his friends and instituted another bout of wrestling. It seemed the most natural way in the world to express his appreciation.
But after the tussling had wound down, Enric was struck with a new thought. If these creatures were smart enough to learn such complicated tricks from a human, who couldn't even speak their language, what more could a werewolf teach them? Ingenuity -- and a flurry of quick changes -- made the possibilities almost limitless. He might even, Enric realized with a thrill, teach them some English! Then they could communicate in private without his changing shape.
The wolves listened eagerly as he laid out his plan.
