OF WOLVES AND MEN
"So, Vaesha, how many admirers are you expecting this time?" Three nights had passed since her first performance, and Vaesha's "fan club," she informed him, continued to grow. Enric had begun looking for a way to keep tabs on the girl, but the only place he saw her now was in the mess tent.
Vaesha flushed at the question. "Oh, I don't know," she laughed nervously, picking at her food. "There were eight yesterday. I have to admit, I never expected -- " she brought herself up short and changed the subject. "Uh oh, here comes Uncle. I can't let him see me with these cinnamon buns; he says they're bad for my figure." And with a flick of her curly locks, she left him to face the magician alone.
"Evening, son," Cantonicus grinned. An unhappy Loren trailed in his wake.
"Evening," Enric nodded. The two men looked at one another calmly, but Cantonicus' aura sizzled with anxiety and Enric's skin itched to change. This is it, he thought, and surprised himself by feeling more eager than nervous.
The magician clapped his hands once, then rubbed them together, like a grandfather preparing to bestow some gift. "Enric," he said, "how would you like a night off?"
The carny "trailer park" lay at the bottom a hill, out of sight of the midway, but Cantonicus' wagon was anything but unobtrusive. Roughly the same size and shape as an R1 recreational vehicle, it made up in murals what it lacked in windows. Wizards, dragons, and signs of power swam across its boards in streams of purple mist. A bit gaudy for a potential death trap, Enric thought.
"All right, then," Cantonicus grinned as they climbed the steps together, "in you go."
Enric took a deep breath and turned the handle, still wondering if he'd made the right decision in following the old man out here. But after all, this was just the sort of adventure he'd come to the dreamworld to find. Back swung the door and he stepped into the magician's chamber.
The first thing he noticed was the clutter. Chests and jars, beads and mirrors, stuffed animals, and charms of every shape and size swathed the room from floor to ceiling. Cantonicus closed the door and sidled up beside him. Enric tensed, then relaxed. "Beds're down here," the magician commented, stamping a trap door in the floor, "just in case you were wondering." His scent had mellowed by a notch, perhaps because he was now on familiar ground.
Enric nodded, his eyes searching for any resting place in all the confusion. Eventually they lit on a six-inch stuffed reptile mounted on a craggy rock. Despite the wear and tear of time, the creature's fangs were diamond-sharp and its scales gleamed like mother-of-pearl. "Is this a real dragon?" he breathed, forgetting everything else as he reached toward the tiny creature.
"Of course it's real!" the magician snorted, and slapped Enric's hand aside. "What do you think I am, a charlatan?" He snatched the artifact off its shelf and cradled it gently in both arms, his expression shifting from wounded dignity to fatherly love. "This little beauty's been in my family for sixteen generations, but it still bites--watch where you touch!"
Despite the tension, the werewolf had to laugh. Cantonicus wasn't nearly as offended as he'd have his visitor believe. "It looks so fragile," Enric murmured, bending for a closer look. "Aren't you afraid you'll crush it, holding it like that?"
"Crush a dragon?" the old man crowed. "Son, I could use this wing here to cut wood! Where do you come from, anyway?"
"Telika, I told you."
"Telika, my ass," Cantonicus plunked the dragon back on its shelf. "Come on, son, tell me the truth now."
"I don't understand," Enric answered, his pulse beginning to race. With an effort he kept his face calm -- and his muscles loose. Werewolf or not, he was as vulnerable to magic as the next person. If Cantonicus attacked, he'd have to be quick on the defense or he could conceivably be fried.
Silence spooled out like kite string. The two men stared at each other, unblinking, unmoving, until the air practically crackled with tension.
Cantonicus was first to explode. "All right then," he snapped. "Have it your way. I only wanted to help."
"Help?" Enric opened his mouth, blinked, closed his mouth, blinked again. This was the last thing he'd expected. "How?"
Instantly the magician's eyes sharpened. He'd breached his opponent's armor after all, and now he could afford a touch of caginess. "That depends," he sniffed, folding his arms and drawing himself up to his full considerable height, "on what sort of help you need. I'd imagine that for a man in your position, information would be high on the list."
Enric's nostrils dilated as he fought to catch the old man's scent -- not an easy job in the midst of all that dust and incense. Cantonicus, it seemed, was more excited than ever, but there was no deceit or malice in him. Gradually Enric's muscles began to relax. At last he, too, folded his arms. "What position," he said carefully, "do you think I'm in?"
The magician began to smirk. "Weeeeell," he answered, drawing the sound out into at least three syllables, "you're a stranger here, of course -- maybe so much so that you feel like you're in a different reality." He waggled his bare brows, and Enric couldn't help but laugh. After all the trouble he'd take to hide his identity, all his concerns over his frequent miscues, it all came down to this. Cantonicus knew what he was -- the dual part of it, at any rate -- and it didn't bother him a bit. He shook his head in amazement. "How long have you known?"
The magician promptly dropped into a nearby chair. "Known? Ohh, about two seconds," he winked. "But I've been suspicious ever since you pulled that hand trick with the Lady. I saw another man do that once, a long, long time ago."
"Another dual?" Enric's eyes lit up.
"Yep, that's what he called himself, all right. Pull up a chair, son. We've got time to talk." Eagerly Enric complied, and when he was seated, Cantonicus resumed his story. "I met him when I was about your age, when I still thought I was talented enough to make a living as an adventurer. But it turned out he had to rescue me from a pack of bandits who knew how to disable me (Just don't ask how they did it, 'cause I ain't telling). Well, soon's he'd got us both safe, he introduced himself and stuck out his hand, kinda like you did earlier. At first I thought he was asking me to pay him, but he set me straight pretty quick. Said he thought I was from his homeland because I was an adventurer, and that was the way people there greeted each other. 'Course, I didn't buy it at first; it seemed like such a screwy custom, even for someone as foreign as he obviously was. But we hung out for awhile, shared a few adventures, and by the time he trusted me enough to tell me where he really came from, I trusted him enough to believe him."
"And then what?" Enric prompted, when Cantonicus seemed in danger of losing himself in reminiscence.
"Hm? Oh, I don't know. Before long I realized my gifts were better suited to the carnival than the battlefield, and we went our separate ways. I don't know what he's doing now, if anything. But he went by the name of Angus, so if you meet him on your travels, be sure to say hi."
"Angus," Enric smiled. "I will."
Abruptly Cantonicus leaned forward, his eyes sparking. "So tell me something, Enric. Of all the things this guy told me about his homeworld, the only one I had any trouble with was the idea that you don't have magic -- is that really true?"
"As far as I can tell," Enric shrugged. "There are people that believe in it, though; and who am I to question what I haven't seen for myself?"
"Amazing," the old magician shook his head. "And boring! No wonder you had to find yourself a new reality."
They laughed together for a moment, two men from two worlds sharing a single outlook on life. Then Cantonicus' face darkened. "Now see here, boy," he warned, tapping Enric's knee like a schoolteacher. "A crippled land like yours can't prepare you for what you'll encounter here. We got wizards and monsters running around all over the place, dragons in the deserts and serpents in the seas --" suddenly he pulled up short. "You at least know what those things are, don't you?"
Amused, Enric said he did.
"Well, good," the magician nodded, a little uncertainly. "Now, pretty much anything supernatural's bad news, but there are ways you can protect yourself. There's charmed weapons, poisons, amulets -- the Guardians give you anything like that when you crossed over?"
"Uh, no." Enric blinked, surprised Cantonicus even knew about the Guardians. Angus must have told him.
"Figures." The magician slapped his knees and stood. "Just expected you to work it all out on your own, I guess. Well now, let me see what I can come up with. First lesson, boy: you can never have too many wards."
As he began to root through his chests, Enric shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Let me ask you something, Cantonicus," he ventured after a moment. "Aren't there any good supernaturals?"
The old man paused to scratch his chin, then resumed his search as he answered. "Well, there's fairies and stuff, but you almost never see them; and even there, I'd watch my back. They're small, but they can get up to some nasty tricks."
"What about you? Aren't you a supernatural?"
"Me?" The old man guffawed. "Son, there's nothing supernatural about magic; it's a human art -- not that you shouldn't be afraid of some sorcerers. But if I had my choice, I'd take a magician over a monster any day.... Ah! Here's something!" There was the clank of metal as he drew a small necklace from the chest. "It's not the most potent, but it'll do you for a start. Solid silver, chain and amulet both, with Chresta's image stamped on both sides. Proof against vampires, werewolves, ghouls, and most other low-grade creepy-crawlies. Here ya go, son."
Enric didn't reach for the charm immediately. Proof against werewolves? he thought. So what would happen to him if he touched it? He imagined the silver burning into his skin like some cheap horror movie effect, and Cantonicus blasting him through the roof with his magic. After all the trouble they'd taken to win one another's confidence, the last thing Enric wanted was a fight.
Still, there didn't seem to be any polite way to refuse the gift; and besides, the Guardians had implied that silver was only a danger if it reached his bloodstream. As for Chresta, he didn't know the name, but something about it sounded comfortingly familiar. Well, he thought, I suppose if anything does happen, I can always drop the thing and run like hell. Slowly he reached for the amulet. If Cantonicus noted his hesitation, he didn't remark on it.
The cool metal tinkled into Enric's hand and sat there quietly. He didn't bother to hide his relief; let the old man think it was gratitude -- which, in a way, it was. "Thanks, Cantonicus," he said as he slipped the amulet around his neck. But I'm still getting rid of this thing the first chance I get.
The magician nodded gruffly. "Well then, next order of business. I can see you ain't been here very long, son, so tell me: do you even know where you are?"
"Beyond Birimi, no. I'd love to see a map, if you have one."
"Well," the old man grinned, "let's see what I can do." He swept the clutter to one side of his desk and began to draw with one finger.
"Don't you have any paper?" Enric joked as lines of blue fire spread across the wood.
The magician was unamused. "Certainly not!" he snorted, in the same wounded tones he'd used over the dragon. "That stuff's poison, son. Don't you dual folks know anything?" Then his face lit up. "Oh, wait a minute -- I think I see! Tell me something, Enric -- " he scooted forward in his seat and turned to face the younger man -- "has your world always been without magic, even in its younger days?"
In the act of responding, Enric paused, suddenly unsure of his answer. "Well," he said after a moment, "that's what most of us think, anyway. But we do have our legends...."
"A-ha!" the magician crowed instantly, practically dancing a jig in his seat. "I'm right, then. You did have magic, but you went and killed it all with your tools and fancy inventions!"
"I don't understand."
Cantonicus rapped Enric's chest with a bony finger. "Son, every time you increase your technology, you decrease your magic -- and vice versa. You can't have both in one place."
"Oh, I see," the werewolf nodded; adding to himself, Is it like matter and antimatter, then? But there was no way to put that thought into R2 language. Even Cantonicus' word for technology came out sounding foreign and a little unclean.
Enric drummed his fingers on the magician's map, working out the implications of this new knowledge. "So tell me," he said after a moment, "does everyone here know about the connection between magic and...technology, or only magicians?"
Cantonicus leaned back in his chair. "It's not common knowledge, but we don't try to keep it a secret. Hmph! If we did that, I suppose you'd have people trying to invent things just for the thrill of doing something that's forbidden! And then where would we be?"
"Back where I came from, I suppose," Enric sighed. "But don't worry -- " he added quickly, noticing the alarm on the magician's face -- "I'd never do anything to harm this world; nor would any dual, I think. We come here to escape that kind of life, not reproduce it."
"Well, then," Cantonicus muttered, sounding less than convinced, "I suppose that's all right." And he bent back to his map.
The lesson went on for some time, with both men interrupting frequently to ask questions. Cantonicus, it seemed, was as curious to learn about Enric's world as Enric was his -- although he continually emphasized his lack of desire to visit it. "Such a crippled world," he muttered for perhaps the tenth time. "No wonder you people can't get enough of things; they're all you've got going for you."
"Not all," Enric interjected, but the old man seemed not to hear.
"Wouldn't want to raise a family in a place like that," he shook his head. "Kids'd come out all stunted in the imagination...." Suddenly he bolted upright. "Vaesha! Where is that girl? She should be here to hear all this -- " he caught Enric's look of surprise. "I mean," he stuttered, "if it's okay with you. See, I told her all about Angus and, um -- it is okay, isn't it? I mean...." He fumbled to an embarrassed stop.
"Of course it's okay," Enric smiled. Anything to get her away from the townies. "In fact, I think I can tell you where to find her."
Back they trudged up the hill, Cantonicus lighting the way with a palm-sized globe of fire. Enric didn't tell him that he'd have preferred the dark. Humans, he thought, and laughed silently to himself. It felt good to keep a secret.
The big top loomed huge against the sky, its entrance a gaping hole even to Enric's eyes. From its depths wafted a foul mix of odors: beer, paint and bodily wastes. "Gah, what is that smell?" Cantonicus muttered, as Enric broke into a run beside him.
Cantonicus caught up with him at the entrance and the two men stopped dead. In the flickering light of the magician's flame swam a jumble of overturned bleachers, crushed props, and cracked tent poles -- all heavily overlaid with paint and less savory substances.
"Oh, Enric," the magician moaned. He clutched his stomach as if physically wounded. "Who would do a thing this?"
"Townies," the werewolf spat and wrinkled his nose against the odor. "Vaesha?" he called.
There was no answer, but at his niece's name, Cantonicus leapt into action. "Sweet Chresta bless!" he muttered, dashing out into the mess. "Please, please don't let her be hurt!" His light globe blazed bright with fear.
"Cantonicus, wait!" Enric called, but it ws too late. At least the old man had run in the right direction, though. Vaesha's scent cut the stench with a bright yellow streak of fear, pointing the way toward the rear of the tent. She must have stumbled onto the vandals in the middle of their spree. But then what? Enric took off after Cantonicus.
Near the rear door the girl's scent intermixed with that of about a dozen strangers -- the townies, presumably. Dear God, the werewolf thought, don't let them hurt her. Through the open flap he could see the zoo tent, glowing like a lantern from within. The overall effect, though, was anything but peaceful. Along with the dim torchlight, shrieks and chatters streamed through its canvas walls, coupled with a fainter sounds of rattling bars and human curses. Vaesha's scent pointed directly toward the closed tent flap. Had they taken her there, or had she escaped and run to find Enric? The latter seemed more likely; why would the townies move a captive from a tent they knew was empty to one that might be guarded?
The werewolf shook himself back to alertness. In the midst of his pondering, he'd allowed the old man to outpace him, and now Cantonicus stood at the zoo tent entrance. "Wait!" Enric called again, but he was too late. The flap had closed again, with the magician on the other side.
