Musca, The Fly (Written in the Stars, Book 2) Part 1, Chapters 1-11

[Rabbit]

Hello!

I’m posting this here (in multiple parts, because I must due to character-count limits) not for detail-editing comments-- that comes later-- but for general observations. If there’s something major wrong, that has to be fixed before detail-stuff. So… What I’m after is…

Is this readable?

Does it hold your interest and make you want to keep reading?

What can I do to make it better?

FYI-- this is Book Two of a series that I originally working-titled “Ursa Major” after the first book-- which can be found elsewhere in this thread-- but have now decided might better be called “Written in the Stars”, as that fits well with the theme. Each work is titled after a constellation-- Musca is visible only on the southern hemisphere. Book Three-- “Aquarius, the Water-Bearer” is nearly done in rough draft-- should be posted here in a month or two if all goes well.

Thanks again, and I hope some of you at least enjoy!

Special Note-- Transferring the text here strips out italics, which I use frequently as a stylistic choice to emphasize specific words. Some entire passages, spoken by a maybe-character referred to as the protagonist’s Inner Voice, are supposed to be italicized. This will case some readability problems that, sadly, I have no idea how to remedy, and may make some sections sound a bit odd. I’m sorry-- would fix if I reasonably could.

Phil =:3

Musca (The Fly)

January 1, 1904

Johnstown, Pennsylvania might not be quite as far north as Seattle, but it certainly was a darn sight colder in wintertime! I was surrounded by a mass of shivering humanity, their breath visible in the frigid air and their coats wrapped tight around them. Probably I was the only comfortable one there.

“I sho’ wish they’d get this over with,” Frederick commented from his usual perch between my shoulder blades. When even the rabbits complain, you know it’s well and truly cold. I grunted in sympathy, carefully not mentioning that I found the weather just about perfect. When you’re a Kodiak bear living well south of your natural climate, even a less-than-fully-grown one, winter is your friend. Most of the rest of year, I’d have about died without magical help.

“I can’t believe that we don’t line these silly robes with fur,” Guardian complained. She too normally benefitted from paranromal climate control, as did her fellow sorcerers. But despite the Guild’s outward show of confidence and all the invitations they’d sent out to VIP’s the world over, in magical terms she and all the rest of her fellows were stripped down to fighting trim. If something went wrong, they’d not be handicapped with pre-existing enchantments that might get in the way of far more potent spellwork.

I growled softly again and rubbed gently up against her; reflexively she scratched my left ear in return. Guardian and Frederick and I had spent most of the past two years together living as a sort of improvised family. I spent the bulk of my days tutoring Frederick-- by virtue of much hard work he was nearly up to the fifth-grade level by now-- while Guardian completed the last of her own coursework to become a full-fledged sorceress. Then we spent the evenings reading or playing cards or whatnot together. The whole thing wasn’t just highly irregular; it was totally unprecedented. By now all our familiar-friends had been assigned out to their masters and were actively serving as spell-magnifiers. Midnight still dropped by to see us a couple nights a week since he still lived at the Castle, and the others more rarely. But neither Frederick nor I fit into the system properly. In Frederick’s case it was because his education was so substandard; it’d been decided that he shouldn’t be assigned to a sorcerer until he’d completed at least the sixth grade. In a year or so, therefore, he ought to be ready for his new life. But in my case, well… I wasn’t ever supposed to have been Changed in the first place, much less become a familiar. Because I was a large predator the only magic I could strengthen was war-magic, which the idealistic American Guild had sworn never to pursue. Plus I was sorcerer-marked, though in a different way than anyone else had ever been, which wasn’t ever supposed to happen at all to a familiar-candidate. It was just as well that I was a pretty good teacher and got along with Frederick, because I was starting to wonder if maybe educating him would be the only productive work I ever accomplished for the Guild. Except for the testing sessions, which were endless at first but now hardly took up any of my time at all, they never let me anywhere near anything magical.

I was sorta beginning to wonder if maybe they were afraid to.

But at least they’d adopted me on the social level-- there wasn’t any doubt that I was a beloved member in good standing of a very exclusive group-- and paid me a full familiar’s wages, which was enough money to make my eyes water. I send most of it home to Sister Magdalene, who had more orphans to feed than she knew what to do with. It wasn’t like I missed it any-- the Guild took care of all my needs and fed me well enough. Besides, what was a bear to do with money, anyway? Maybe buy myself a fancy hat?

Just then Shaper climbed partway up the scaffolding at the mouth of the Johnstown Pit and waited for the crowd to quiet down. It didn’t take long. Even without the support of his traditional gray robe and pointed hat, Shaper’s personality and bearing was a force to reckon with. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began. “Thank you for making the long, difficult trip out here to the middle of nowhere on not only a remarkably cold day, but for many of you the morning after considerable festivities.”

Almost as one, the crowd smiled.

"We’re grateful that you’ve accepted our invitation to serve as witnesses to a magical first; the sealing of an active Pit. The spells are set and ready; all that remains is to activate them. But first I’d like to take a moment to put the matter into perspective.

“Pits, as we’ve learned in recent years, are solely the product of human activity. They’re only created when some behavior-- more specifically, some form of cruelty-- is magnified so far out proportion that it not only becomes a sort of abomination, it causes mass carnage as well. The Congo Pit was created by systematic exploitation and slaughter of the local indigenous population to a degree unseen anywhere else in the world. The Sepoy Pit was, it is believed, created by the savageries of both sides in that horrible conflict. The Haitian Pit too was probably the result of both atrocities and counter-atrocities, though the Jamaican Pit is the responsibility solely of the cruel planters.” He sighed.

“While the Johnstown Pit is far from the worst ever created, due to its relative youth it’s currently the strongest on the planet. It’s my duty as a sorcerer-- and our collective duty as the American Guild-- to heal this wound, as we are indeed about to do. A Pit is a dangerous neighbor indeed; it produces demons, fosters madness and evil visions, and generates nightmares for tens of miles in all directions. And yet…” He turned and looked towards the visiting politicians, who’d all been directed to stand in the same general area. “I wonder sometimes if this is our sole duty in regards to this matter. In this particular case, for example, I’ve heard it claimed over and over again that there was no evil involved in the Great Flood of 1889. A dam broke, it’s said. It was merely an unfortunate accident that claimed the lives of over two thousand innocent men, women, and children.” He shook his head.

“It was evil, all right,” he assured the crowd. "Pits are never the product of mere accident, or even of wars honorably fought. It takes something twisted and deformed in human nature to reshape the universe in such a perverse fashion. It’s my job as a mage to know these things, and I assure you that this is so no matter how badly you may want to deny it.

"So, you ask, where exactly did the evil lie? Where did the stupidity and lack of common sense end and outright malignancy begin? That, I fear, I cannot tell you. But if I were you, I’d begin by following the money. For the root of evil is sin, and if there is a characteristically American sin it’s greed. Why, I would ask, are the wealthy men whose plaything killed two thousand souls still wealthy when so many were beggared and worse? Where’s the justice in this?

“Because of Johnstown our Guild has given itself over to an intense study of Pits in recent years, and I myself have spent much time wondering what the purpose of such monstrosities might be in the greater scheme of things. Perhaps they exist so that we cannot forget, and are thereby forced to learn from our mistakes? If so, are we ultimately doing Mankind a disservice by closing this one?”

He sighed again and shook his head. “I can’t know the answer, of course. But I’ve called this group together as witnesses for a reason. And that reason is to ensure that even after the Pit is sealed the cries of the dead for justice shall not be forgotten. Not tomorrow, not next week, not next century. Something horrible and wretched happened here, and it was the direct result of one or another form of human evil. If we’re to rise and progress as a species, then the ugly truth must be faced.”

Then, very slowly, Shaper raised his wand. He closed his eyes in concentration…

…and a huge slab of rock perhaps fifty feet square by three thick was sheared off the bluff as neatly as if cut. Like a door on hinges, it swung shut over the Pit’s entrance. The earth shook when it slammed home, then kept shaking as the Pit’s interior transformed itself into solid stone once more. Then Shaper shook his head one last time, climbed down the scaffold and without a word to anyone began the long trudge back to Devard Castle. Leaving the rest of us to stare at the single word carved deeply enough into the patch to last for centuries.

“Greed,” it said.

2

“Hello, Christopher!” Shaper declared as I entered his office later that night, his voice hearty and strong. The old man might not have been the highest-ranking sorcerer in the United States, though a lot of outsiders probably thought so. But he was certainly the hardest-working. All day long after the Pit-closing ceremony he’d greeted one VIP after another, some of them openly seething at his public comments. But he’d never once ceased to smile during the whole ordeal, or at least not out in public where anyone might see. Then, long after anyone else would’ve declared a good days’ work done and over with, he’d called me over to see him in his office.

“Mrrrow!” another more familiar voice added from under his desk, and a black feline head emerged. It was grinning, though exactly how I knew I could never say.

“Midnight!” I greeted my old friend, returning the non-grin in precisely the same way. “I didn’t know you were here in the Castle.”

“How could I not be?” he asked. “With something as important as the Pit-closure on the agenda?” He sort of flowed out into the open, his edges even blurrier than those of most black housecats. “I never get any rest,” he complained. “So many yarn-balls, so little time.”

I smiled-- Of all we familiar candidates, Midnight had been the most obvious as well as the most potential-filled. Even as a boy, he’d seemed more than half cat.

“We live in increasingly challenging times,” Shaper pointed out. “As you two above all ought to know.” His eyes shifted back and forth between us, as if we were pieces of a puzzle that remained yet incomplete. Then they settled on me. “I’ve heard that you’re making wonderful progress with Frederick, Christopher.” He bowed slightly. “For perhaps the ten-thousandth time, thank you. In truth, I haven’t a clue as to what we’d have done without you.”

“Failed,” Midnight observed. “And then failed again.”

Shaper’s eyes narrowed. By now I was well aware that Midnight was some sort of oracle; it was impossible to hide the fact. “Well,” the sorcerer said eventually, “Perhaps.” Then he looked down at me again. “You’re growing big and strong, Christopher. And very, very quickly.” He smiled. “Soon we’ll have to reinforce the floors again. If not enlarge the doors.”

“I think I’ll always be able to squeeze through,” I said, even though I was growing a bit worried regarding the matter myself. Bob and Eric, the Castle’s horse-familiars, had been forced to give up entering anything but specially-built structures. I was glad to be a bear-- it was my true self. But I also liked being around people, and that meant inside. “One way or another.”

“You’ll be made comfortable regardless,” he promised. “We owe you that and more, and are fully aware of the fact.” Then his smile faded. “Of course, there’s a reason you’re growing so quickly. You’re sixteen now.”

I nodded back and looked away. Despite their fully-animal appearance, familiars were also humans. That was why I didn’t hibernate, for example. And it was also why at sixteen I was undergoing a tremendous growth spurt and eating blueberries and everything else by the greedy bucketful. At the rate things were going I was liable to end up scaling half a ton or more. But what I could do about it? It was natural to me, now. Beyond my control.

“Sixteen,” Shaper continued, “means growth of many kinds.” He sat down on the little stool that he used when working at his bench. Midnight immediately flowed into his lap to be stroked, and the sorcerer obliged. I sort of envied my friend that ability-- if I leapt into the old man’s lap it’d probably kill him. “You’ve already graduated high school, son. In fact, you did so four years early. Because of that, well… We haven’t felt too bad about letting you cool your heels with Frederick. It was worthwhile, important work that needed to be done. And besides…” He sighed. “No one really knew what to do with you.”

I nodded, frowning slightly. “Because I’m only good for war magic.”

“Yes,” Shaper agreed, nodding back. “That’s it, in a nutshell.” He sighed again, then shifted his attentions from Midnight’s ears to his belly. My friend’s jade-green eyes half-closed in pleasure. “But… We can’t keep you on a shelf indefinitely, son. You’re in many ways a prodigy; a great gift to the human race even disregarding your magical potential. So I’ve made a decision, if you’ll accept it. A decision that may cost me my seat on the Prime Council in two years, mind you. But one that I feel good about regardless.”

My ears perked up. “Sir?”

“First I tried to find a college that’d accept you, so that your intellect wouldn’t be wasted even if your special powers must be. However, between the difficulties regarding your physical situation, petty superstition and certain security concerns, well… It proved impossible. Only the military academies would take you in, and even that in my opinion is merely an attempt by our armed forces to inch the Guild closer to embracing war magic, as is the case in Europe.” He sighed. “And, in point of fact… Well, son, the fact is that we may yet be forced to do exactly that. Contrary to what some of my most esteemed Guild-brothers and sisters seem to believe, it takes only one aggressor to make a fight. Some nations would’ve gone to war against Germany over their attempt to kidnap you two. And I can’t say that I believe they’d be wholly mistaken to do so.”

I nodded again, while Midnight actually stiffened and showed his fangs. That’d been a bad night indeed…

“You’re a Protector, Christopher. Not an aggressor. I’ve believed so from the moment I met you, and still believe so now. There is a difference between the two, no matter what some of my peers imagine.” He shook his head. “A Protector of tremendous potential-- the Kodiak bear may well be the most fearsome and dangerous animal on the planet. Certainly I’d give you good odds against any mere lion or tiger, once fully grown.”

“You’d win for sure,” Midnight said.

“Yes,” Shaper noted, looking down at Midnight and taking careful mental note of what he’d just said. Then he turned to me again. “So… I can’t send you to college. Nor can I use you as a familiar or train you as a sorcerer in your own right. Both of those courses have been outright forbidden to me. Nor can I leave you unguarded, for fear some other less scrupulous Guild might attempt to steal you away again. But… You’re entitled to some form of education beyond simply reading books all the time, as I’m pleased that you do, and also some sort of generalized preparation for whatever career options might be open to you. So….” His eyes narrowed. “Guardian will be graduating next month, with honors, as a full-fledged sorceress. Her specialty, obviously, is protecting people from various sorts of danger. We have reason to believe that, well… Some very bad things are about to happen in the world, and we want to see if there are any advance signs on the ground. Since your natural inclinations are similar, well… Perhaps you’d like to go along? Travel broadens the mind, they say.”

I licked my nose thoughtfully. Frederick was almost caught up to where he needed to be academically, and lately he’d proven willing to accept instruction from others besides myself. So that didn’t have to hold me back. But… I was a bear now, and a large, growing one at that. Going out in public was awkward; in fact I now understood perfectly why Eric and Bob preferred to pull a wagon in silence and remain incognito instead of being the focus of so much attention.

“I think it’s important,” Midnight opined. “You should go.”

I blinked. “Really?”

“Vital, even,” he reassured me. And it was only then that I figured out why Shaper had made time for this little interview on such a busy day. Because Midnight happened to be at the Castle, I was certain. And he wanted to take advantage of the fact.

“Well, then…” I replied. “In that case, I guess I should.”

See? the little voice in my head that I hadn’t heard in months whispered. You’re smarter than you know.

3

“We’re hunting for a salamander?” I found myself asking Guardian a few days later as she packed for both of us. “As in, a fire elemental? I thought those were mythical.”

She smiled as another sorcerer’s robe disappeared into her steamer-trunk. Unlike most women, Guardian didn’t seem to have much difficulty picking out what she wanted to wear on a long journey. Though there was a set of outdoorsy-type work clothes and a nice party-dress buried somewhere in the bottom, plus a few lacy little things for special occasions, day to day she’d wear the robe that marked her very special place in society. Of course I was living in a glass house myself on the subject. As a bear, all I habitually wore was the extra-wide, bright-orange collar that marked me as a non-animal in every nation on earth. “Not mythical, Chris. Just rare. Though perhaps less so, this year.”

I blinked, then tilted my head to one side. Magic had been slowly increasing in the world ever since it’d come back in the seventeen-sixties after no one was quite certain how long an absence. Indeed, the American Guild stood high among its peers in part because it was Benjamin Franklin who’d set up some of the original proofs of its return. “What about the Chicago Fire?” I asked.

“That one was purely mundane,” she replied, slipping a glass vial into each and every pocket of yet another robe before folding it and laying it atop the previous one. Sorcerers never spoke of what exactly was inside those vials, and it wasn’t polite to ask. But they never went anywhere without them. “Most fires are, you see. My job is preventing and protecting people from disasters regardless of their cause. Yet…” She frowned. “We have reason to suspect an unusual number of fires this year, and fires are my special focus of study. Or else the normal amount will be unusually destructive; the augury isn’t entirely clear. It may be either a salamander or else pure coincidence.” She shrugged. “We’ll have to be prepared to deal with either possibility.”

I nodded, grateful for the polite ‘we’. I was excess baggage was all, and we both knew it. “I’ll try not to get in the way,” I promised.

Guardian stopped packing long enough to smile and scratch my ears. “You’re never in the way, Chris,” she reassured me. “In fact, you’re delightful company. Most of the time while we’re traveling there won’t be a thing for either of us to do, so I expect we’ll be spending a lot of time together. Besides,” she continued, smiling. “I’ve been asked to make this trip as educational as possible for you. That means I have a perfect excuse to take you sightseeing and such, instead of it being all work, work, work. So never doubt that I’m glad to have you along.”

I smiled back. “Are you sure there won’t be any big disasters in St. Louis this year?” I asked again, for perhaps the twentieth time. The World’s Fair was there, and so were the Olympic Games, and well… I sorta wanted to go. Really and truly wanted to, in fact.

Her smile faded. “I’m sorry, Chris,” she answered. “If you were just an ordinary familiar, or maybe even an apprentice sorcerer in training, well… It could probably be worked out. Almost certainly could, in fact. But you’re not ordinary, as we both know. Even less so than Midnight, I’ve always thought.” She hugged me, which felt nice even though her arms didn’t reach all the way around. "We have duties, you and I. Important ones. Mine is to help others, and yours is to learn and absorb all you can until we figure out your proper place in the greater scheme of things.

I nodded and forced another smile. At least we were going to be out traveling together instead of stuck in the Castle doing nothing. “Be grateful for the small blessings,” Sister Magdalene had always advised me, and she was a wise woman indeed. “I can’t wait to leave,” I said. And, best of all, it was true.

4

While Philadelphia was probably the closest seaport to Johnstown, and New York of course far and away the busiest, Guardian and I ended up waiting for a ship in Baltimore. There were a lot of good reasons for that. One was that we were headed to Scandinavia, and it so happened that there was a passenger-freighter out of Oslo due to depart from there in early February. An even better reason, however, was that lots of other cargo ships that did business with that part of the world came and went from Baltimore as well–even more than New York. My instructor and travel-partner had finally scored a definite hit with one of her divination tools. While a truth-tower wasn’t a hundred-percent trustworthy, she explained during the brief train ride down south of the Mason-Dixon line, it was as good as anything available for the purpose. Hers indicated that the next big fire was due soon in that part of the world. So, quite naturally, she wanted to move as quickly as humanly possible. The Council didn’t consider our mission important enough to allow travel by apportation because the spell used up a lot of power in a hurry and it was impossible to predict a fire’s date and locale precisely enough to pre-position a team regardless. So we checked into the Mullins Hotel and I sort of cooled my heels while every morning Guardian went down to the docks and tried to finagle our way aboard a ship.

Most people didn’t care to associate with we magical-types; indeed, that was one reason Guardian was having such a hard time finding a ship willing to carry us to Norway or Sweden direct. But with Mr. Mullins and his family, it was different. He actively catered to sorcerers and their familiars and seemed to enjoy our company. It was plenty awkward to be a Kodiak bear in a large city. People gawked, children ran away screaming, horses were startled, and police officers reached for their revolvers if they didn’t see my collar quickly enough. Because of this I’d planned to pretty much sit Baltimore out and study instead-- there wasn’t much to see there anyway, or so I imagined. But Mr. Mullins not only encouraged me to go see Fort McHenry, he detailed one his youngest bellhops to spend the entire day with me as my personal guide! Jimmy and I had the times of our lives, running and laughing through the streets once Guardian had passed her wand over him and declared him safe. He was sixteen too, and it was the first time since I didn’t know when that I’d had the chance to run around with someone my own age unsupervised. And the crabcakes! I have no idea how many I ate during those happy days, but it was bunches and bunches! They were almost as good as blueberries and salmon. That’s one of the best things there is about being a bear, I think-- we like to eat almost exactly the same things humans do so all the best recipes are all worked out already.

We’d been there a week before Guardian showed up early one day back the hotel; it wasn’t even noon yet. Her face was long and her head hanging. “What’s the matter?” I asked her from over my book-holder; it’d been cobbled together by a local Johnstown tinkerer accustomed to making gadgets for we familiars and was my most prized possession. So long as there wasn’t too much of a breeze and the book in question was fairly close to standard-size I could read almost as well as I had before the Big Change, using my tongue to turn pages.

“We’re too late,” she replied, tossing a newspaper onto the bed, headline up. “At least no one died.”

I blinked and pawed the paper closer. “Fire Rampages Through Alesund,” the headline read. “Heart of Norwegian Town Burned to Ground, Yet No Fatalities”. Then, in smaller print. “Kaiser Wilhelm Promises Aid”.

My teeth bared themselves a little at the last line, then I forced them back to normal. While I had a legitimate grudge against one particular German magic-user, so far as anyone could tell the Baron Attache was dead and gone. His actions didn’t mean that all Germans or everything they touched was automatically evil-- after all, I was half-German myself. The Kaiser was sending aid to a town prostrated by a huge fire, for heaven’s sake! Because, I discovered as I read a little further, he liked anchor his yacht there and was fond of the place. What was evil about that?

“It’s all right,” Guardian replied, reaching out to scratch my ears. She’d seen my reaction and understood its cause as well as I did. “I don’t much care for them either, after that night. They say the Baron was acting alone, but…” She shrugged. Then she tossed the paper aside and changed the subject. “I need to build another truth-tower. Shaper’s cleared you to see a little more of what we do from the inside. While I’ll still have to hide a few things… Want to watch?”

5

Building a truth-tower wasn’t, it seemed, as simple as it sounded. First my caretaker had to gather up the correct materials. Even the simple stuff was a lot harder to come by than it sounded; there probably wasn’t a lumber yard in the country or maybe even the whole world that carried so much as a single board-foot of willow, for example. And even if they had, they probably wouldn’t have taken care to record the tree’s original physical orientation. I might not’ve been able to help a lot, but Shaper was right in that I was able to pick up a good deal about what a sorcerer’s life was all about by watching Guardian carefully inscribe a mark on the north-facing side of every limb we harvested. Details, it seemed, mattered. And not the ones that most people would consider obvious.

We also had to round up three hedgeapples even though they weren’t in season. This wasn’t easy either. No one ever kept them because there was no earthly use for the things except for maybe repelling bugs-- some people swore by them for the purpose, but not many-- and in a tiny handful of magic spells. Most of the rest was pretty easy, though-- a spool of cotton thread of any old color, for example, and ashes from a blacksmith’s furnace. Then Guardian spent almost an entire day setting things up in her hotel room. It was nearly ceiling-high when she was done, and towards the end I had to stay out in the hallway because there just wasn’t enough floorspace for me and the tower both. Late in the evening she finally finished up and called for me to watch from the doorway. “Magic,” she explained while settling a polished jet-black sphere into the little net she’d crafted at the very peak of the apparatus, “is believed to be a phenomenon of humans, and only of humans. No one knows yet why it came back, or for that matter why it ever left in the first place. But it’s related to humans, and our humanity lies at its very core. So we shouldn’t be surprised that it reflects human symbols and operates on blatantly anthropomorphic principles.” She paused to make sure I understood the long word, but I did of course. “This little ball is made of a rock called basalt. As recently as a hundred years ago it was white-hot and molten; we import our fire-prediction balls from Hawaii so they’re nice and fresh.” Then, once it was firmly nestled in place, she climbed down off her bed and began dusting strange-looking powders on the floor. Some of them I couldn’t look at-- every time I tried my mind sort of blanked out until I remembered where I was a minute or so later. “Now,” she said, “All we have to do is activate the spell. If the indicator rolls towards you, be sure and dodge out of the way!”

I nodded, though I felt it unlikely that the ball would travel far on the carpet Guardian had spread out as a cushion. Then she smiled, waved her wand and said something impossible, all at once. At first it seemed like nothing happened, but now the sorcerer was staring fixedly at the indicator ball. “We’re seeking a fire,” she explained. “So it’ll grow hotter and hotter until the threads burn away. When they do, it’ll fall and roll. The next big fire’s distance and direction can be roughly determined by the distance and direction it travels.”

I nodded, sniffing the air as the threads began to smoke. It was getting hot already! Then, sooner than I’d have imagined, the ball burned through, fell…

…and stuck fast to the floor directly under the net as if it’d landed in a sandpile.

“Damn!” Guardian said. “A null result.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

She shook her head, then poured a pitcher of water she’d kept ready and waiting over the basalt globe to cool it down. At first the liquid flashed into steam, but soon the stone’s temperature was down to almost normal. “It means I messed up,” she admitted. “Though I’m not sure just how or where.” She sighed. “I guess I’ll have to troubleshoot the entire setup tomorrow. If I can’t figure out what’s wrong myself… Well, I hope that won’t happen. It’d be pretty embarrassing, this being such a simple spell. But… If I can’t figure it out, I guess we ought best go back home to the Castle and let someone else have a try at it.” Her face brightened. “But don’t you worry! I’ll almost certainly find the problem on my own. Flubbed spells are embarrassing, yes. But they’re a lot more common than we practitioners let on, as well!”

The next day was Sunday, and the church bells were ringing all over town as Jimmy and I wandered about sticking our noses into this and that. While the Guild had no official position on religion, there were only a handful of sorcerers and even fewer familiars who attended services regularly. This tended to have more to do with the various religions involved than anything else. In my own case, for example, I was nominally a Catholic. But willingly entangling one’s self in matters magical was a mortal sin. The Vatican was still arguing about whether familiars had forfeited their human souls along with their human bodies, so I wasn’t even sure if they considered my actions redeemable or not. But it didn’t really matter, I suppose. I’d been well on my way to losing my faith even before the paw-marks had appeared on my palms and I could see now, looking back, that Sister Magdalene had understood this perfectly. Why she herself remained with the Church, I’d never know.

Jimmy didn’t seem to care much for church bells either, so my new friend and I simply enjoyed the bright sunshine and admired the fancy carriages as they rolled by, full of the faithful in their Sunday best. We were just on our way to the Inner Harbor when suddenly I froze in my tracks. “What’s wrong?” Jimmy demanded.

“Smoke,” I replied. “Lots of it.” I swung my head upwind. “From that way.”

By the time we came gallumphing up to the scene of the fire together-- apparently in an urban environment human and ursine adolescents can achieve roughly the same speed-- the flames were well-established. The building was an ordinary-enough looking place-- a painted sign indicated it was the John Hurst and Company building, though there were no external signs of what sort of business Mr. Walker and Company might be doing there-- and a large crowd had gathered. Already a chain of buckets had been formed and I could hear a firebell ringing in the distance, but the situation didn’t look too promising to me. The smoke was hanging low, and there were embers flying everywhere. Then I finally had a thought that should’ve come to me long ago-- my only excuse was that deep down I was still an excited teenager. “Guardian!” I exclaimed aloud. “She’s a specialist in disasters, and especially firefighting! I bet she could put this out in two seconds!”

“Get her!” Jimmy urged. “I’ll help carry buckets!”

The hotel was only a block away; I thundered through the lobby like a one-bear stampede and raced up the stairs quick as lightning. But Guardian’s door was locked. “Hurry!” I urged. “It’s an emergency!”

“It’ll keep just one more second,” she replied. “I’ve got a spell underway.”

So, despite the adrenaline flooding through my system and the ever-increasing smell of smoke in the air, I sat down to wait. On my very first day at the Guild I’d been taught that there are few things more dangerous to interrupt than a spell in progress. Indeed, it was for this reason that sorcerers who played with the really serious stuff that could take days to cast became virtual hermits. I listened as she gave the truth tower incantation one more. Then the indicator ball thudded into the floor…

…and for the first time I realized that the spell hadn’t failed after all!

“There’s a fire!” I exclaimed. “I think it’s going to be a really big one, right here and now! Come look!”

The door opened and Guardian stuck her head out. Her nostrils twitched comically. “I thought what I smelled was the thread burning.”

“It’s not!” I reassured her. “Come to my room-- the window faces the right way!”

We crossed the hall and threw the shutters open. A puff of smoke-filled air blew in. Guardian stuck her head out first; when she pulled it back inside her eyes were wide and red. “I’m such a fool!” she declared. Then it was my turn. Already the street I’d just run down was fully involved, and the flames were advancing by leaps and bounds.

Directly towards us.

“You stay right here!” Guardian commanded. Then she frowned and changed her mind. “No, damnit! I think it’s going to spread at least this far before…” Then her frown intensified. “My first job, even before putting out the fire, is keeping you safe.”

“No!” I countered. “I can take care of myself. I’ll run just as fast as I can to, say… the Inner Harbor. We’ll meet there after it’s all over. If worst comes to worst, I can always just jump in the water and swim for a while.”

She blinked, thinking it through. Kodiaks were prodigious swimmers, all right. "Okay, Chris. But no side trips! You’re important, you know. Shaper would let the whole city burn to the ground before losing you!

6

I thought about Guardian’s parting words as I ran down the suddenly unfamiliar street towards the Harbor. I was more important to the Guild than the entire city of Baltimore? Presumably that was property only, not including the population…

I did my best to keep my word and head directly for the water. Really and truly I did. But everything had changed so much since the fire started that I sort of got turned around and lost. Or at least a little. Bells were ringing, people were shouting and running about, mothers were looking for their children… And worst of all, the embers were igniting new flames here, there, everywhere! For the first time I really began to appreciate what a terrible thing a major fire truly was. I thought I was surrounded by flames for a little while, until I rounded a corner and found an orderly group of men working hard to salvage bags of mail from the burning post office. One of them pointed at me. “Would look at that?” he demanded of his mates. “You don’t see one of those in the city every day!” But they kept right on carrying mailbags, and presently he did the same.

It was easier, once I knew where I was. I worked my way up and down the narrow alleyways until I saw the sky start to open up in front of me-- that was the Harbor, where there weren’t any buildings to block the sun. I’d just smiled and begun trotting that way when a peculiar wet wind began to blow. At first it was just deliciously cool and moist, then it turned more and more into liquid. Seawater, I realized after licking my lips. Soon the mist turned into rain, and I knew that Guardian had thrown her weight into the battle. It was cool, it was moist, it was wonderful; in a moment I was soaked to the skin. Even the air was cleaner! But soon the spell moved on, even though the fires weren’t quite all the way out. I’d just splayed my legs to shake myself when a young black man stepped out onto the street from a stable that’d been burning like the devil until just a moment ago. His face and clothes were covered in soot, which made his teeth flash extra-white as he smiled at me. “Thank you for the magicking, sir!” he said, clearly mistaking me for the spell-caster. “I was about trapped when–”

Just then, I saw it. A little blob of white-hot flame skittering about like a high-speed rat, racing back and forth in the stable and leaving everywhere it passed solidly aflame. The young man saw it too; his eyes widened in terror. “No!” he cried. “Please, no!” Then he was running, but it was too late. The infant salamander raced out of the now-solidly-burning stable and climbed his pants leg. Instantly the clothing was burning too, and…

I didn’t take time to think it through. Instead I dashed over and swung my left forepaw, hard! Hiss! my claws went as they sliced ineffectually through the air. But I did better with my right. It felt like the paw passed through something as insubstantial as flame itself, and twice as hot. But the salamander was flung bodily away. In an instant I took up its victim in my best bear hug, not to squeeze him to death but rather to smother his flames with my soaking-wet fur. It worked too; I barely felt the fire except where paw had passed through the fire-elemental. That felt like I’d dipped the thing in molten lead!

“Let me go!” the burned man begged, misunderstanding my intentions entirely. The snarl of combat on my lips probably didn’t help. “Oh, please let me go! I didn’t do you no harm!”

I sighed and released the poor man, pretty sure that he wasn’t burning anymore. Predictably he ran off in terror, or at least ran as well as the terrible burns on his legs allowed. Sometimes I hated looking like such a fearsome beast-- no one ever ran away from Kim or Midnight or any of my other familiar-type friends!

But I should’ve made tracks too. Because the salamander was back. And while to this day I can’t say for certain whether or not elemental forces have feelings or not, this one certainly acted pissed off!

Yes, my fur was thick, and yes there was an awful lot of it. It was also still pretty thoroughly soaked in seawater, as well. But it was practically no defense at all against the salamander, which had come back and was racing all up and down me like a demented ferret. First there would be a burst of steam where it touched me as the water boiled off, then the fur itself would stink and burn. I roared and screamed in anger, but simply wasn’t built to fight this particular kind of enemy. Twice I got lucky and slapped the thing away, each instance allowing me to run a few feet nearer the cool water of the Inner Harbor, and once I managed to bat it into a watering trough. The fire elemental didn’t like that at all, but neither did it do the thing any harm I could see. Instead it emerged bright as ever and took a moment to ignite a tavern, two more stables and a plumbing supply business before once more stubbornly returning its attention to me.

By then I was in a pretty bad way, I have to admit. It was stunning, really, how quickly the harmless-looking little elemental-- just a baby among its own kind!-- had reduced me to near-impotence. My fangs and claws might look impressive to the uninitiated, but apparently they counted for little in the world of magic. My forepaws weren’t just burned; they were seared like cooked meat, particularly the left one, and there was another big area that hurt almost as much on my belly where I’d tried to smother the salamander by sheer brute force. My left eye wasn’t working anymore either, and hadn’t since the elemental had raced across it early in the encounter. My left ear, I suspected was gone entirely. And now…

…now the cursed thing was back, zooming and zipping and racing all over my body leaving a track of red-hot pain in its wake. I moaned and staggered, batting at my tormentor as best I could but failing to connect. My heavens, was I going to die?

Then my moment finally came. The salamander raced diagonally across my back, its destination for once obvious. Just as it dashed around and under me, I trapped the thing with my left paw in what a human might call his right armpit. Then, wailing in agony, I reared up on my still-undamaged hind legs and staggered human-style towards the water, the white-hot elemental charring first fur and then skin and then muscle with every step…

…until finally I teetered off into the ocean. Where the water boiled and the steam rose and more and more of my flesh cooked until I finally had the satisfaction of watching the baby salamander first dim to nothing and then die.

7

“…damned young fool is what he is,” Shaper was complained a little later that day, shaking his head as he looked down at me. A soon-to-be-wealthy boatman had found me floating out in the harbor more dead than alive, and though I was far too heavy for him to haul aboard he’d rigged a sort of sling for my head so that it wouldn’t go under anymore when I passed out. That’d happened a few times already by the time he found me, enough that I knew for fact I’d have died without him, and I couldn’t remember much of anything else that’d happened after he finished. Now I was lying on a patch of soft grass with all sorts of goo oozing out of me, Guardian was crying her eyes out, and something smelled really bad. I would’ve complained about the stink, except I rather suspected it was me.

“I swear on my mother’s bible,” the boatman declared, turning his head so that as many people as possible among the gathered crowd could hear him. “It was a salamander, and this here bear kilt it all by himself. Damnedest thing I ever saw in all my life!” He shook his head. “He’s a hero! Heaven only knows how many lives he saved.”

Shaper glared at Guardian again, and she looked as if she were about to crawl away and hide under a log. Killing salamanders was supposed to be her job, not mine. “It wasn’t her fault,” I muttered again for maybe the thousandth time. According to the boatman I’d been mumbling that over and over again since he’d found me, and even now somehow I couldn’t find any other words. The world was fading in and out too quickly to allow for much in the way of abstract thought. “Just bad luck. What were the odds against me personally running into the thing in such a big city?”

At that Shaper finally relented and smiled, then squatted down and stroked my remaining ear. “I’ve put a painkiller spell on you, son. It’s all I can do here and now, but there’s a specialist on the way. Everything’s going to be all right.”

I nodded, then for the first time complained a little. “It’s so cold. Could I have a blanket, please?”

Shaper eyed the large bonfire that I was already lying very near and blinked. Then a tear streaked down one cheek. “You were brave, Christopher,” he reassured me. “Very, very brave. I’m sure you did right, as you saw it. And I’m sure Guardian wasn’t at fault either. Don’t you worry about anything; just rest and… be as comfortable as you can.”

I laid my head down and snorted; jeez, it almost sounded like Shaper thought I was gonna…

Not yet, the internal voice that so often came to me when things were at their worst whispered in my ears. Your agony, and your glory, have only just begun.

That made me feel a little better, enough so that at least I was able to raise my head and look directly into the camera lens that was suddenly being waggled in my face. “Get that out of here!” Shaper demanded. “Have you no sense of decency?” But it was too late. The shutter had already clicked.

Then there was a great ooh-ing and aah-ing in the crowd as everyone looked heavenwards. A streak of cloud was racing across the sky like a daytime comet, and it was curving down, down, down…

…to land right here!

Then there was a sort of flash and a green-robed sorcerer stepped out of the sudden fog a few yards away. “Shaper?” he asked in a terrible French accent. “I seek Monsieur Shaper. It is most urgent.”

“Here!” my friend cried out, and instantly the crowd parted to allow the newcomer to join us. As he stepped up his eyes met Shaper’s for an instant and a very genuine smile flashed across his features. He was extraordinarily young for a sorcerer, maybe even younger than Guardian. Yet he seemed very confident and sure of himself.

“Bonjour!” he greeted his colleagues. Then he turned to Guardian. “Monsieur Shaper I already know, of course. But who are you?”

Despite her obvious fatigue and the tear-streaked soot all over her robes and face, Guardian managed a smile regardless. A rather pretty one, in fact. I’d heard Frenchmen often had that effect on womenfolk, but it was the first time I’d ever seen it. “I’m Guardian, sir.”

“Healer,” he replied, repeating his ridiculous bow and not-at-all ridiculous smile. Then he turned to me. “And I presume this is the fallen hero?”

“Yes,” Shaper replied, looking relieved. Apparently he thought pretty highly of this Frenchman, whoever he was, and had been afraid someone else might be sent. “You, sir, are privileged to look upon the aftereffects of a battle to the death between North America’s largest carnivore and a fire elemental.”

Healer winced. “He fought a salamander all by himself? With only mundane strength?”

“Kilt it, too!” the boatman interjected.

“Mon Dieu!” Healer muttered, looking me over with what might even have been respect. Then he shook his head and turned back to Shaper. “I see that you’ve cancelled the pain. You were right to do so; otherwise the stress might well have killed him by now.” Then he frowned. “I can’t treat him here. Nor is he in any condition to be moved by conventional means. May I request the hospitality of your Castle, sir?”

Shaper nodded. “Of course. You needn’t even have asked.”

Healer’s face darkened. “Force of habit, I fear. On my side of the ocean things aren’t nearly as friendly and open as they are here.” Then he stood up straight. “The patient is massive and will require considerable effort to move, while I fear that I must be at my absolute sharpest over the next few hours. Would you be so good, sir, as to apport us directly to whatever room you wish the patient to be treated in?”

The next few hours-- the next few weeks, really-- were pretty awful. Healer must’ve had a strong stomach, because he spent an awful lot of that time either up to his elbows in red, slimy gunk that used to be part of me, or else in the room next door casting spells that stank to high heaven. Yet never once did I see him throw up, even though I did so over and over and over again. Basically, he explained to me before he even began, he was doing three things at once. “First, young Christopher, I must keep you alive, and this alone will not be such an easy thing at first. As your doctor I’m obliged to inform you that you may well not pull through. If you have matters that need settling, settle them.”

I nodded gravely, even though I knew I was going to be okay. My little voice had never, ever lied to me, and I didn’t think it was about to start now.

“The second and third things, they sort of go together. When something is burned, it means that it is killed. And once its dead, well…” He rolled his eyes in a very French way. “Then it’s merely in the way, or even worse a spreader of corruption. So we must remove the dead parts of you-- rather a lot, I fear-- and then, last of all, regrow them.” His eyes met mine. “It will be a very ugly process. Your forepaws, for example-- they’re dead almost to the bone. Charred, even. I will remove them almost first thing, and they won’t be replaced until almost last. Until then, you’re to be… How do you say it? Bed-tied?”

“Bedbound,” I explained.

“Bedbound, then. I fear there is no help for it.”

And there wasn’t, of course. Not for any of it. Including the times when the pain spells slipped and despite myself I screamed to raise the roof, or when Midnight sneaked in to see me despite being warned to stay away and threw up in the middle of my floor, or even the long, dull weeks when Healer had to paralyze me for my own good, so that I lay inert and almost as if dead, unable to communicate with anyone.

This is the price of valor, my voice reminded me sometimes. Be stoic, be strong. For you have much to be proud of.

Apparently that last part was true, even though it never really felt that way to me. Practically everyone in the country, and even some folks outside it, seemed to want to send me an award or give me a medal or something for fighting the salamander. It hadn’t seemed like a big deal to me at the time-- running it all back through my mind, which I had plenty of time to do while paralyzed, I couldn’t even see where I’d made any conscious decision to fight the thing. It’d all sort of just happened, was all. And yet…

Healer worked himself silly trying to make sure I’d be in something resembling presentable condition for President Roosevelt’s visit. “Teddy”, as everyone around the Castle affectionately called him, wasn’t nearly as tall as I expected. Yet he filled the room not only with warmth, but with a sense of presence that was awesome to experience. "Good afternoon, Christopher,” he greeted me, reaching out to shake my paw that wasn’t there before withdrawing his hand awkwardly. “I’ve heard some pretty amazing things about you.”

I blushed bright red under my fur; despite knowing long ahead of time that the President would want to speak with me, well… Somehow I couldn’t, now that the moment had come.

He smiled to cover my awkwardness. “You’ve saved most of a city, son. Not many can claim to have accomplished so much at so young an age.” He leaned forward. “You can’t possibly know this, and I’ll ask you to keep it under your hat. But I’ve more friends here than you might imagine. And I’ve heard about your star-marks.”

I gulped and tried to stammer out a reply. I in turn knew that Mr. Roosevelt had once been a Marked familiar candidate and thus one of the family so to speak, but was rejected for the good of society as a whole. I wasn’t supposed to know that, however, and… Well, it was a Good Thing that Healer stepped forward and replied in my stead. “I’ve seen them too, Mr. President. How could I not have, being what I am and Christopher being my patient?” He bowed his head. “In France, this young man would be seen as a national asset of the highest order. He’d be well along in his training by now.”

The President smiled sadly. “As I intimated to the young man here, Monsieur, I have closer connections here than most people realize. So, I in turn would ask you specifically what sort of training you’d suggest? An Apprenticeship to the art of the mage, or familiarship classes?”

Healer frowned. “He’s clearly one of the most formidable vessels for war-magic ever born. Plus he’s proven his courage already several times over, and I’m continually impressed by the sharpness of his mind. And yet…” He shook his head. “He’s morph-locked, sir. As fully and completely as anyone can ever be, in a form much too big and clumsy to allow him to create and cast spells on his own. So, I’d with regret make him someone’s familiar.” He shook his head. “In France, this would certainly already have happened. But then, Europe is racing towards war and France shall surely suffer at least as badly as anyone when it comes. Everyone is always speaking of revanche for 1870, but only we doctors and healers seem to understand what the true cost must be.”

Mr. Roosevelt nodded sadly, and for a moment his eyes were far away. “Not just doctors and healers, sir. I assure you of this.” Then he turned back to me. “Our Guild has rejected war magic out of hand, yet the Lord sends us a perfect soldier.” He smiled humorlessly. “He’d be worth an entire squadron of battleships, I’m told. Yet the peaceful attitude of our Guild benefits us as well.”

Healer nodded. “I would not have come so far or worked so hard to save a German military asset, Mr. President. And in all honesty, no one else could’ve saved him. Nor would I have shared so much of my specialized knowledge with the sorcerers of almost any other nation.” He sighed and looked out the window. “It must be pleasant, to have an entire ocean between yourself and any potential enemy.”

“It is,” the President admitted. “Though I find that our obligations stretch further and further over the horizon every day. Our sun is still on the rise, it seems.” He extended his hand. “In any event, Monsieur Healer, let me personally thank you for saving Christopher. I’m well aware of both your unique talents and how much you’ve shared along the way. Please know that it’s not just the American Guild that stands in your debt, but the American people as well. If Washington can ever do anything for you, sir, you have but to ask.”

Healer smiled and half-bowed before accepting the extended hand. “Saving the life of a hero is a rare pleasure, sir. It gives one hope that perhaps he might rise to another, greater challenge in the future.” Then he turned to me. “This one never complains, sir. Not even when he has genuine cause. I did what I did not for the United States of America, fond though I am of your nation. Rather, I did it for the people of the world.”

Mr. Roosevelt nodded, then smiled down at me. For an instant, I saw a flash of the owl behind the man. "Christopher, the American Guild moves more slowly and reluctantly than any other body of men in the world. But they’re not the only power in the land. Your doctor is right; the world needs you, or at least it needs what you have it in you to become. " His smile faded. “It’s sad that the world needs a warrior, yes. But that’s just how things are.” He bowed formally. “The City of Baltimore thanks you, the United States of America thanks you, and for what it’s worth I’m as impressed as can be on a personal level as well. And I intend to see that you’re granted the opportunity to grow to your full potential and seek the destiny of your choice.” He smiled one last time. “Good-bye, son. It’s been an enormous pleasure to meet you.” Then he was gone, and I realized that I’d just moved one notch closer towards whatever future it was that my inner voice kept hinting at.

And through it all I’d not uttered so much as a single syllable.

8

While chronologically my healing wasn’t yet half over, the President’s visit marked the end of the heavy lifting phase. After that Healer gradually withdrew bit by bit from my case, turning over my more routine care to the American Guild Healer. (It was also then that I learned that all sorcerers shared only a handful of names, which would’ve been terribly confusing except that a workaround was in place. When two magic-users shared a name, by unspoken consent the elder wore a “redder” robe than the younger for as long as there was liable to be confusion. So technically my Healer from France was “Green Healer” by his robe color while his American counterpart was “Red Healer”. Had a third healer of an age between the two been present , he or she might’ve worn a blue or gray robe. But I just called both the same thing most of the time, and they didn’t seem to care.) Clearly Healer was preparing to return to France to spend his time with patients who needed his unmatched expertise more than I now did, so one day I sort of stammered and stuttered my way through an attempt at thanking him for saving my life.

“Non!” he replied, shaking his head and making a sweeping negative gesture with his right hand. “I shall not hear of it! It is you are to be thanked, for your bravery in tackling a foe many fully-qualified sorcerers would’ve with reason feared. Yes, I know you don’t really think much of it yourself; this would be annoying if it weren’t such an essential part of your generally pleasant nature. But in the eyes of others, young Christopher…” He smiled. “I’ll simply say once more that caring for you was my honor.” Then his smile faded. “May I speak to you of another matter?”

“Of course,” I replied. Then, perhaps a bit infected with Frenchness myself I bowed slightly. “For you, the door will always be open.”

“Excellent.” Then he looked away for a moment to gather his thoughts in a foreign language before proceeding. “Mon ami, I’ve seen the star-pattern on your flesh. I wasn’t prying, mind you. But as your physician I could hardly fail to notice.”

“Right,” I agreed.

“Anyway…” He sighed. “I’m in a rather bad situation here in some ways. Your American Guild is unique in the world in that it’s refused to embrace war magic. In many ways I give your people much credit and respect for this, but on another level, well…” He shrugged. “It’s perhaps easier for a nation’s sorcerers to embrace peace when it has no mortal enemies. Mexico can never be a serious threat to you, and Canada, well…” He smiled again. “From what I know of them they’re half-American anyway. War between such good neighbors is unthinkable. In Europe, however…” His face fell. “War for us is something that remains forever in the forefront of our minds. We must consider its likelihood in every plan we make, because when it breaks out war affects everything. Our railroads, for example, are optimized not for maximum efficiency as arteries of commerce, but rather to serve the best interests of our armies-- and to confound the Germans-- in the event that fighting should begin.” He shook his head. “Things should not be this way, of course. Yet they are, and I’d be a fool not to accept this as my reality.” He looked away. “I’m informed that the Germans once attempted to recruit you for their Guild.”

I lowered my eyes. “I didn’t like the idea very much.”

“So I’ve heard, and this does nothing but improve my already positive image of you.” Healer sighed again. “Christopher, you know Shaper’s name. But do you understand his true function?”

“He reshapes familiar candidates into their final forms.” I answered.

“Yes,” Healer agreed. “But that is only the beginning. He can be said to ‘shape’ Guild policy as well, as in making long-term plans. Plus, it’s his job to see that the Guild does its part in shaping human destiny to its ultimate end. He’s your Guild’s elected leader. Though his grip is slipping. Largely over what to do with you.”

I nodded slowly. It fit what little I knew of Guild politics. And Shaper had sort of told me that my future was causing him troubles before he’d sent me out on the world tour. “I believe you, sir.”

“Slipping badly.” Healer looked away again, and this time didn’t turn back while he spoke. “For what it’s worth, those few of us Continental types who have even half an idea of what you’re capable of agree that you should’ve gone into some sort of formal training long since. To us it’s beyond obvious that you’re a born soldier, and we don’t denounce our soldiers. In fact, we thank the heavens for each and every one of them!” He turned and faced me again. “I’ve so testified to your Council, which met last Wednesday largely to discuss your future. They invited me to speak as a courtesy, you see. And as a sort of ‘thank you’ for my help. It’s not common for any sorcerer to speak before another Guild, and yours is choosier than most.”

“May I… I mean, what did you say?”

Healer smiled. “That you should be free to choose, quite frankly. And that throwing away gifts from heaven is generally an unwise practice.” His smile faded. “Christopher, I’ve grown very fond of you very quickly. And I’m also impressed by you as well. So I’ll speak the truth and all the truth. I expect Shaper’s Chairmanship to end over his decision to send you overseas to learn. While your Guild embraces you personally and fully accepts its obligation to properly care for you, well… Beyond that they consider you an embarrassment more than anything else. Sort of a loose end that simply won’t tidy up. Left to themselves they’ll make you their much-beloved pet bear, and never anything more than their pet bear.” He looked away again. "I hate war, in the way that only a Healer can. But I also love justice and human freedom. If this happens, and at any point you should… " He scowled. “Merde! I fear I’m going to come across like the bloody Boche!”

My eyebrows rose. “Who?”

“The Germans,” he explained. “We French call them the Boche. It’s not a particularly nice nickname. Anyway, for all that I fear sounding and being like them in even the smallest things… In France, you could find your true destiny. You’d be welcomed with open arms, and unlike your old friend Baron Attache we’d leave your mind entirely free-- my sacred word! France is a cradle of freedom every bit as much as your United States; you’d be supporting many of the same values there as you might here, were you allowed to do so. I’d be very grateful if you were to think long and hard about this. Assuming that Shaper loses his battle, of course.”

“Of course,” I agreed.

He smiled and extended his hand. I placed my brand-new forepaw in it; in a few days I’d be walking again. For a moment Healer examined his repair job with obvious pride, then he shook my “hand” firmly. “I’ll always be your friend either way,” he replied.

“And I yours,” I answered, meaning it.

“Ah!” Healer replied, his face growing suddenly sad. “If only nations could get long as well as individual men. Then what a peaceful, happy world we’d have!”

9

Not being a sorcerer, in theory I wasn’t privy to the deliberations of the Council of the Guild. Despite this, however, I knew to the day when Shaper lost his majority. On a certain Tuesday I was actively encouraged to watch and participate in the various day to day spellcasting rituals at Devard Castle, while the next morning I found all the doors closed. “I’m sorry,” all the various sorcerers explained. “You’ll have to go see Shaper about it.” Many times the sorrow seemed genuine, and I suspected that Shaper’s defeat had been a narrow one indeed. But I never complained to the old man-- he’d done his best for me and there was no sense in rubbing his nose in his failure.

Since I was still recovering from my burns anyway, I decided instead to renew my friendships with the other familiars. Midnight was gone on important business much if not most of the time, but Timmy the sparrow was always perched somewhere. Though he wasn’t much good for roughhousing, at least he was a fun partner to have along on a hike. And of course there was Cynthia the goose, who liked to perch on my back and talk, talk, talk the afternoons away about how her father was spending money twice as quickly as she could earn it for him. Poor girl! It was clear her father didn’t love her for herself, and that was why she needed to talk to me so badly. But maybe the most fun of all were Bob and Eric the horses, who despite being I didn’t know how much older than me had never lost their sense of fun. One day they persuaded their stablehands to hitch me to their wagon, and I pulled it all over the castle grounds while everyone stared and laughed. “I think he could pull my share,” Eric observed after a while. “At least for a while. He’s pretty strong.”

“Hmm,” Bob replied. And the next thing I knew he was in the traces alongside me and someone was filling the wagon’s box with oversized bricks. “I…” I stuttered. “I mean, this is disrupting everyone’s schedule, and I don’t know if I should…”

“Ha!” Bob replied. “Look at this way, kiddo. You’ve become an animal for the benefit of the Guild. If I tried to list everything you and I have given up for these people, it’d take all day and long into the night. So why not have a little fun along the way?”

“I bet he can do it!” Timmy chirped. “All the way up the hill!”

“No takers!” Cynthia replied. “You’d be a fool to bet against Christopher at almost anything!”

Then Bob snorted. “This’ll be a full load, son. As much as Eric and I can handle. We’ll have a driver aboard; if you feel like you can’t hold on anymore then just fall back in the traces and he’ll put on the brake. There’s no need to get anyone hurt. Got it?”

“Got it,” I agreed. My harness didn’t fit very well, but I decided that wouldn’t matter so much for one little hill. In a few minutes it’d be over.

“Hyah!” the driver declared, shaking our reins. And with that, Bob and I began calmly on our way.

It was easier than it should’ve been, mostly because Bob had been a working horse for so long. Our pace-length and gait were vastly different; if my partner weren’t so experienced we’d have been in trouble from the very beginning. But somehow he compensated; three paces into our long pull he got the feel of things and then everything was easier.

“Go, Chris!” Frederick declared, hopping up and down in place. “Go!”

And go we did, right up until we hit the steepest part of the grade. It didn’t look like it’d be that bad until we got halfway through it. Then… Something happened. It was as if the weight of the wagon suddenly tripled. Bob’s eyes rolled, then he sort of gurgled. And I felt something spinning, spinning, spinning in my mind.

“No!” Eric declared. “Not now of all times!” Then he dashed in behind and threw his shoulder behind the wagon. Not that it helped much-- horses are designed to pull, not push.

I felt my eyes narrow as my claws scratched deep into the gravelly-mud. Then my teeth bared themselves. Somehow, I knew that it was vital to something somewhere that the wagon not slide backwards. And no brake was going to help; this wasn’t about mere gravity. Most of the work was being done by my hindlegs; with a terrible effort I freed one up and stepped forward. Muscles cracked, my claws raked the earth…

…and the wagon inched forward.

I roared my anger at the heavens, sending poor Frederick running for cover, and did it again. And again and again as the gravel splintered my claws and ripped at my feet for what felt like hours, all the while Bob giving his best at my side. Until finally whatever had so boosted the wagon’s weight vanished as suddenly as it’d come and the spinning sensation faded to nothing. With comparative ease we topped the little rise…

…then fell as if dead in our traces.

10

“…not so much that you were messing around with things you shouldn’t have been,” Shaper explained later that evening as I laid exhausted in bed. Something about that long pull had drained me in ways that it shouldn’t have, and I knew I’d be weak for days. “Or even more specifically that you were messing around with things you shouldn’t have long before you were fully healed. I’m vexed, yes. But I also remember what it was like to be your age, you see. So I can’t hold you fully accountable.” He sighed and lowered his head. “What’s really got me angry is that I’m not allowed to talk to you anymore about magic, which in turn means that I can’t thank you for what you did today.”

I sighed and looked out the window. It was just sunset, and fiery reds filled the skies. “Well… They can’t stop me from speculating about what happened based on what I already know, can they?”

“I suppose not,” Shaper replied. Then he grinned. “I’m probably supposed to discourage you, however. So, let me get that out of the way first.” He struck an overly-dramatic paternalistic pose. “Don’t think for yourself, Christopher. It’s a bad idea, always certain to cause problems. For both yourself and others.” Then he grinned.

I grinned back. The more I got to know Shaper, the more I liked him. Something very alive and in love with life thrived inside him. “I’m such a disobedient child. So…” My smile faded. “Magic is symbolic, right? And… I was pulling Bob and Eric’s wagon.”

“You were,” Shaper agreed.

“Bob and Eric are familiars,” I continued. “Workhorses.” I frowned. “Different species of familiars offer different strengths and magical advantages. So… I’d guess that being workhorses, they’re power sources?”

He said nothing, but his smile widened. So I continued. “And… Some sorcerer somewhere needed power in a hurry to deal with an emergency. He noticed that the wagon was hooked up and ready, and being in a hurry didn’t check things out any more closely. So, I supplied Eric’s share. Judging by the fact that you’re so happy about it, I’d guess it was something important, and that what I delivered was enough.”

“It might perhaps have been that way,” Shaper replied, eyes twinkling. “Though of course I can confirm or deny nothing.”

“Of course,” I agreed. Then my brow wrinkled. “But… Sir? I’m not a familiar, really. I’ve not been formally apprenticed to anyone. So how can I have been tapped for power?”

“You can’t have been, of course,” Shaper replied. Then he looked off into the distance. “Which is why the whole thing must never have happened the way it so obviously did in the first place, or so all too many claim. Just like the whole series of coincidences that brought you here to us as a bear must mean nothing at all. Because it contradicts too many deeply-held convictions. Mere facts should obviously never be allowed to stand in the way of deeply-held convictions.” He sighed, then his joints cracked as he stood. “Good night, son. Get some rest-- you need it. I fear that I’ve already said too much, and I’ve got to go see Bob as well. He’s even more drained than you are.”

“He did most of the work,” I agreed. “Good night, Shaper.”

But I wasn’t allowed to sleep. “Pssst!” a new voice whispered into my window a few minutes after Shaper left. “You still awake, Chris?”

“Yes, Eric,” I replied. “How’s Bob?”

“Fine!” the big equine replied, clomping up close so that he could gaze at me with one big horse-eye. I wondered for about the thousandth time what it’d be like to see out of the sides of my head like that. “He said to tell you that after today he’ll be happy to share a good pull with you any time. As would I, of course.” He nickered and bobbed his head energetically. “You’d make a good horse, kiddo.”

I smiled, though I doubted Eric could see. “That’s high praise.”

There was a longer silence. “It was a mine,” Eric explained eventually. “In the Sierra Nevada. The sorcerers operate it to dig up something… unnatural. I have no idea what. There was an earthquake, which nearly caused a cave-in. Bob and I can’t be in harness all the time, but there’s a good reason we spend so much time pulling that empty wagon around when otherwise we wouldn’t have to. That way, we’re on standby duty as much as possible. Anyway… There was an earthquake and the sorcerer on the spot called Force, who owns Bob and I. From there, well… He saw that the wagon was hitched, and never imagined for a minute that anything unusual might be going on.” He tossed his head again. “They don’t tell us everything, mind you. Not by half. But once you’re owned, things sort of just leak through sometimes about what sorts of spells are being cast and why. We’re never, ever supposed to talk about it except with other familiars. The short version, though, is that you saved some lives today, plus some valuable diggings.” He bobbed his head again. “It’s not right that you shouldn’t know.”

I rolled over on my side, the one that’d been less burned. The clean sheets felt cool and welcoming. “I don’t understand it. Every time I turn around, someone’s telling me that I’ve saved a bunch of people’s lives.” I shook my head. “It gets a little unreal, sometimes.”

“I’d imagine so,” Eric replied. Then he wuffled. “But it’s the truth; never doubt it for a moment. I just don’t understand why those asses in the Council can’t figure out that they’ve got something very special on their hands. It’s obvious even to an uneducated brute-labor type like me.”

I smiled to myself in the darkness. Bob and Eric both were avid readers and had probably learned enough in their long lives to have earned a dozen degrees. “I’m not qualified to hold an opinion.”

“No, you’re not,” Eric answered. “Neither am I, technically. And yet…” He stamped a forehoof. “If no one does anything, they’re going to allow you to waste your life away here.”

“Maybe,” I agreed.

“Definitely,” Eric replied. Then he stamped his hoof again. “Rest well, Chris,” he said one last time. “I know exactly how you feel. If they don’t offer you daily rubdowns, ask for them. They help more than anything after that kind of workout. In the meantime, let me see if I can’t make a few arrangements for when you’re feeling better.” Then he whinnied and trotted off into the night.

Maybe it was because I was still weak from the burns, but it took me a lot longer than I expected to recover from the power-drain. Bob was up and about in a mere two days, which rather irritated me at first. Then I thought things through and remembered that work was sort of his specialty. Being a bear made me plenty big and strong, yes. But Bob’s body had been bred to labor for I didn’t know how many generations, and in their slow, stolid way both he and Eric were far more powerful than I was. It wasn’t reasonable that I should always want to be best at everything any more than it was reasonable to expect to be able to fly like Timmy or prophesy like Midnight. So I tried not to mope while my body both recharged and repaired itself while I slept endlessly over the next two weeks. At least when it was over I felt like a brand-new bear, full of vim and vigor and pure rawr!

It was just as well that I was in full fighting trim, because though I didn’t know it a battle of sorts had been arranged for me. It wasn’t my fault or in any way of my doing; though I never found out officially it was pretty obvious that the instigators in chief were Eric and Bob. While my other closest familiar-friends probably helped things along, the horses were the eldest of our little transformed community and therefore the de facto leaders. The first I heard about it, however, was from Shaper. “Please forgive me if I’m a bit more formal than usual,” he explained during the first moments of what I’d assumed was a purely social call. “But I fear that today I’m here on business.” He looked at me searchingly. “Have you any idea as to why?”

I shook my head. “I’ve not broken anything in over a week, sir. At least that I know of.”

He smiled-- adolescent clumsiness could be hard enough on the furniture when the teen in question was a human being. Scaling the phenomenon up to Kodiak bear level, however, was sort of like adding zeros to an already too-large number. “No, Christopher. It’s nothing like that.” His eyes narrowed. “Tell me, is your food good? Are your quarters clean and comfortable? Does anyone mistreat you?”

I felt my eyes widen. “No sir! Not at all! Everyone does the best they can for me, all the time. I’m actually happy to be a bear.”

“Hmph,” Shaper replied, pulling a scroll out of his sleeve and unrolling it. Then he made several checkmarks on it and raised his eyes. “Are you mocked? Teased, I mean? Bullied?”

I blinked, trying to picture someone bullying a creature as large and intimidating as me. “Uhhh… No.” Then I blinked. “Sir, what’s wrong?”

He smiled. “That was rather a silly question, wasn’t it?” Then his features grew grave again. “I have an entire list of questions which I fear I must ask you, son. And I also fear that I must insist on immediate answers. A grave accusation has been made by your fellow familiars. The gravest accusation possible, in fact.”

I blinked. “But… I haven’t done anything wrong!”

Shaper shook his head. “No, Christopher. The accusation isn’t targeted at you. It’s against the American Guild. And the charge is that you’re being mistreated.” He sighed. “Because of the very special sacrifices that familiars make in giving up their personal liberty and their extreme vulnerability to abuse by their owners, a charge like this is automatically kicked up to the World Guild level and demands instant investigation by an international committee of sorcerers.”

My jaw dropped, and a long moment passed before I replied. “Sir, I…”

“I know,” Shaper replied. “You had nothing to do with this; it’s utterly unlike you. I know full well who’s behind it all; there’s only two familiars in the Guild who are in a position to gather the signature of virtually every one of their North American peers on a document like this.” He sighed again. “I’m not sure whether I ought to be angry at them for interfering with my own attempts to do better by you or go over and feed them both a half-barrel of apples in gratitude. But what is done is done regardless, and that means that for the moment I’m required to go over the rest of this document with you.” He scowled. “Even if in your case half the questions are nonsense.”

“Nonsense, sir?”

“Yes. Take this next one, for example.” He smiled, though only very slightly. "Christopher, has any sorcerer ever attempted to physically force their attentions upon you…

11

The questions may’ve been silly, but the underlying accusation apparently was a matter of tremendous import. Almost instantly, my whole universe changed. No one was angry at me or anything like that, but suddenly the temperature at Devard Castle seemed to drop a good twenty degrees. Not with everyone-- Guardian treated me the same as always, and the other familiars seemed to like me as much as ever. But as for everyone else… Shaper disappeared immediately after taking my deposition, and the rest of the sorcerers interacted with me only when they absolutely had to. The mundane staff members, like the cooks and groomers and such, reacted pretty much the same way. “We’re not playing games here, kiddo,” Bob explained to me one afternoon after the Castle’s chief tinkerer returned my bookholder-gadget after fixing it without so much as a word of pleasant conversation. Then he nuzzled my back. “It isn’t personal, and you shouldn’t take it that way. It’s just that there’s a ton of trouble in the air and no one wants it landing on them.”

I frowned and nodded, but deep down inside I was a little peeved at my equine friends for having taken such a drastic step without so much as consulting me. What did they think I was, a kid or something? Heck, I was almost seventeen! But part of me was maybe a little bit grateful to them as well. I’d wasted almost two years now, acting as little more than an overweight tutor. Long ago I’d almost been disqualified from familiarship entirely because I was considered to hold so much promise. Yet, where was I going? What was I learning, what skills were I mastering? All I was getting was a whole lot of nowhere. Finally I sighed and looked up at the big workhorse. “Thank you for filing the abuse claim. I have to admit that I wasn’t happy about it at first. But now that I think about it… Maybe you’re right, in a way.”

Bob nickered and bounced his head up and down. “Sorcerers are mostly good people,” he explained. “But they don’t age, you know. So they always think they’ve got forever to deal with everything, while boys grow up all too quickly. Sometimes we mortals have to bring them down to earth.” Then his expression sobered. “Eric and I discussed the matter for an entire day and a night before deciding. For what it’s worth, we still think it was the right thing to do.”

The next afternoon I was out hiking in the woods all by myself so that no one would have to ignore me, when out of the blue Timmy showed up and perched on a twiglet. “Chris!" he chirped. “You’re wanted back at the Castle, right away!”

I looked up my sparrow-friend. “What about?”

“There’s an English sorcerer on his way from the station to see you. And… And…” He grinned and chirp-chirp-chirped in the nearest thing I’d ever heard to a song from a sparrow. “Guess what?”

I tilted my head wordlessly.

Tim threw his head back and trilled again. “Kimball’s here with him!” Then he was gone in a flash of grayish brown.

---

I was maybe an hour away from the Castle by conventional means, but Tim’s news motivated me to lower my head and bulldoze a newer, more direct route home, right through the stickerbushes and everything else in my way. None of us had seen Kimball since I didn’t know when; he’d been one of our classmates despite the fact that he wasn’t an American. This was because the English-speaking Guilds were on especially close terms, so much so that His Majesty’s Canadian familiar-prospects were often evaluated and transformed here at Devard rather than in the Home Isles. We’d gotten a couple of letters from him telling us he’d been taken into service by a very high ranking British magic-user, and that so far he was happy with his new life despite how awful the weather was in Scotland.

By the time I broke out of the woods, galloped though Devard’s inner gate and came skidding to a turf-ripping halt alongside Johnstown’s most luxurious coach-for-hire, Kimball was already perched atop an impressively-large pile of steamer trunks and other assorted luggage. Then in an instant he was on my back, hugging my neck with his overly-long orangutan arms. “Chris!” he declared. “How truly wonderful it is to see you!”

I looked up at him and grinned. “A most unexpected pleasure,” I agreed. I’d just inhaled to speak again when a tall, black-robed figure emerged from around the coach. “Christopher Speiss, I presume?” he asked.

Suddenly my throat went dry; I’d never seen such an impressively ancient and crotchety-looking sorcerer before. “Yes, sir,” I replied. “Please forgive me, sir. Kimball and I…”

“Yes, yes, yes,” he agreed, His expression was severe. “You’re old friends, I’m well aware. And still boys.” Then he peered at me over a pair of tiny spectacles. “Quite frankly, you don’t look abused.”

I closed my eyes and sighed. “Sir…”

“That’s ‘Your Lordship’,” the old man corrected me. “Lord Jurisprudence, you may call me for the duration of my present assignment.” His eyes narrowed. “I’ve come to hear your grievance.”

I nodded and looked away. “I see, sir. I mean, my lord.”

He nodded and turned to Kimball. “I’m well aware of your friendship with Christopher, son. But under the current circumstances, I fear that your behavior is inappropriate. Please, climb down from there.”

With an audible sigh, the orang lowered himself to the ground.

Lord Jurisprudence turned back to me. “I cannot afford to be seen as anything but totally impartial,” he explained. “You’ve greeted each other, and that is well. Better still that you should have no further contact until after the hearing. Do you both understand?”

As one, Kimball and I nodded.

“Excellent,” the English sorcerer replied. “Then I’m quite certain neither of you will require any further guidance on the matter.” The ghost of a smile might’ve twisted Lord Jurisprudence’s lips. Or perhaps it might not’ve. The expression was too quick and subtle for certainty. “And with that… Kimball, you know these grounds. Would you be so kind as to lead me to the guesthouse? Please come along as well, Christopher. There’s no time like the present to get started.”