From alt.pub.dragons-inn Fri Mar 24 10:31:55 1995 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:8219 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!howland.reston.ans.net!math.ohio-state.edu!caen!crl.dec.com!decwrl!pa.dec.com!nntpd.lkg.dec.com!leggy.zk3.dec.com!orb!not-for-mail From: hutch@agora.rdrop.com (Steve Hutchison) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [Story Buyer] Apprentice Inept: Introit Date: 22 Mar 1995 08:36:49 -0000 Organization: Duchy of Wabesylvan Obspauk Lines: 437 Sender: news@Orb.Nashua.NH.US Message-ID: X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL23] Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Aa'rden was bored. The story-buying trade was going ok, but it had been a while since he had heard a really different story. Not that what he'd heard was especially bad, no, but things were a little routine. So when _another_ tallish figure in a black, hooded robe that completely concealed any features, came up to his table and sat down, Aa'rden had to suppress a sigh. "You buy stories." "If they're yours to sell," Aa'rden replied. "Good." The hooded figure pulled a book from under the cloak and placed it on the table exactly betwen them. Aa'rden looked at the cover, then at the dark space under the hood. "This is a journal," he said, licking his lower lip unconsciously. "It is, and I have the right to sell it." Aa'rden nodded. "One silver wheel," he said. "No way, I know the rates. Four silver wheels per entry." The leather-gloved hand pulled the book back. "Oh. Well, this isn't a Ready Office, we have overhead. I can pay you two wheels for entries of significant content, and food and drink here." The hood tipped forward in a nod. "Accepted. I require two cups of fresh, raw meat or fish, and a glass of mead." Aa'rden smiled, and pulled the journal towards himself, opening the cover. He began to read. --- --- --- Apprentice Inept Introit By: Fox Cutter Steve Hutchison '95 may 3rid It was the turn of the century. Humanity had given up on war. This wasn't because of any particular noble leader, no mass enlightenment, no great surge of fellow feeling. It happened because no children were being born. At first nobody believed it. Then there were riots, and panic, and then after a while, after too many people died, there were no more wars, no more murders. From over five billion, the population fell to less than two billion, over the course of the first decade of the 21st century. And while that was happening something else was going almost un-noticed. Magic was happening. Miracles were happening. It was treated like hysteria by the governments. Then someone made James Randi's heirs pay off on his bet -- they produced a genuine, repeatable-on-demand, supernatural event. Telekinetic ignition of flammable materials. There was a second turmoil. The Pope went into seclusion to pray for an answer, and when his personal assistants went in to help him they found him gone, his robes heaped as though he had just disappeared from inside them. This was hailed as a miracle, but then, forty ayatollahs, the Archbishop of Canturbury, the Patriarch of Jerusalem, the Dalai Lama, four prisoners on death row, a prostitute in Holland, and a pair of tourists at Graceland disappeared in the same way. And to the great and public humiliation of the O'Hair Institute board of directors, the entire 204 delegates and members of the National Conference of Atheists, in Anaheim, California, all vanished during a speech where the chairman was refuting the notion that this was proof of a God. The cameras recording the event show a standing ovation, when suddenly everyone stopped, various expressions of pain, ecstasy, horror, surprise, and amusement came over their faces, and they vanished completely. The videotape was confiscated, but too late: it was broadcast live on cable and copies were circulated. Disappearing became a kind of fad -- it didn't seem to matter what the details of the faith were, it was the faithful who went, or were taken. Except that it wasn't ALL the faithful, and it wasn't ever at their own behest. Then, the disappearances stopped, having taken as toll another half of humanity. Fewer than a billion people were left on earth. None of them were children. Something else strange was noticed. Magic was really spreading. Technology simply couldn't be supported with the drastically reduced population -- the economy had collapsed, been replaced, collapsed again, replaced again, and was on its way down for the third time. Barter was doing well. But back to magic: it seemed that the agribusinesses which used to feed most of the people had come apart, replaced again by farmers, but these farmers had the benefit of the technology years, and by clever makeshifts, starvation wasn't a problem. Large parts of the world were returning to the wild, though, and people were moving closer together, drawing back to those cities which had enough farm land nearby to support the population. Farmers, always following traditions, started noticing some strange signs. The little spells and cantrips of farming were, to put it bluntly, working again. Corn planted at the dark of the moon grew twice as fast as wheat planted two weeks earlier. The first squirt of cows' milk into the straw where the "brownies live" seemed to keep the rest of the bucket fresher, for days longer than was usual. Rats were repelled by spell bundles. Singing while working on the farm implements make the steel stronger. And people who used this magic were healthier, and they weren't growing old as fast, and they weren't getting sick and dying as fast. Eventually this was noticed. There was a group of people who made it their business to notice, looking for weird chances and odd occurrences and coincidences. They started researching. There were people who had made their livings by magic: fortune tellers, water dowsers, that kind of thing; some of them had become reliable. Oh, there were frauds, but people stopped going to them when they found practitioners who were not frauds, who did have magic. They found that on average, the people who lived by magic died from mishaps and accidents, but not from age, at least, not unless they were already aged. So, a new economy and social organization started to form in most of the cities, based around the services of the more useful and powerful of the magicians. And after a few years, someone had a baby. It was 2039, and the first child had been born -- to a couple in their late 80s, a couple who were as hale and healthy as if they were only in their 30s, both of them magicians. They had found an answer by looking at animals. Humans had stopped having children. Animals, however, had not. Science hadn't found an answer to this. There was no organic problem, but fertilized human eggs simply didn't develop. Animal eggs did. Even the great apes, the chimps and gorillas who were humans' closest relatives, had no problem (and in fact were doing better now that they weren't being hunted to extinction). The magicians had performed a ritual, calling on the nature of the animals, and their child was born. The ritual was simple, easily taught, and for the first time in ages the sound of crying children was heard. The first child was almost normal, for his first three years, if you overlooked the fine coat of downy grey fur that covered his body. But when he was three, his mother found him carrying the body of a raccoon kit, very gently. He wanted her to make it all better, but magic to reverse death was not in her grasp. And over the next few years he took on the traits of a raccoon -- his fur pattern changed, he grew a tail, his hands and feet changed, he grew a muzzle, and by the time he was six, he couldn't be mistaken for a human in fur any more. And the same thing happened to all the other children in their downy grey fur, except that it seemed that the trigger for the change was not the death of an animal, but something deeper, an emotion unknown to their parents. A child would see an animal, touch it, smell it, and in a few years they became it. There were parents who tried to choose what their child would become, but after the first few deaths, they stopped. There were parents who tried to keep their children from changing, and a very few of them succeeded -- at the cost of the children's ability to weild all but the weakest magic. These children became humans, but like their parents they were sterile without the ritual and they remain a minority. There were even a few parents who, themselves, wanted to change, to be like their children, attuned to the magic in the world. There may have been some who succeeded. If so, they never told anyone how they did it. In 2056 the first child fell in love, with a girl who had taken the morph of a skunk. Science suggested that they wouldn't be able to have offspring, but they did, and they, like their parents, were born with fine grey fur and humanlike features, and around the age of three or four they found animal morphs of their own, sometimes like their parents, more often not. It was in reaction to the human-or-death fanatics that the law was passed, in many of the city-states, making it a crime to force a child to grow up human. It was a practical joke of Nature that not long afterwards, some children began choosing Human as their voluntary morph. Nature always had a nasty sense of humor. It is the year 2195. Technology is mostly gone; science has been focused on the use of magic, except for those technologies which could be adapted to coexist. The technologies that couldn't be adapted became perverted, and twisted the world around them, as the growing magic infused the technology with a diseased life of its own. Life in these places can be short. The early attempts to mix magic with technology also had some dramatic failures, and experimenters were encouraged (sometimes violently) to try their theories out where nobody would be hurt by their mistakes. Some of the oldest wizards still know what caused the dinosaurs to return to the badlands of Montana, and why there are waterfalls along the Mississippi, and where the change winds are a hazard. There are fantastic creatures there, things out of legend: dragons, for sure, fighting for prey with the Thunderbirds; there are at least two herds of centaurs in the plains of SoDak, and they're breeding true, if the story can be believed. Every lake worthy of the name has its Lake Monster, and every cave has something living in it. Or not, as the case may be. In the smoky realm of the Northwest of what is now called NorAmac, where the volcanoes smoulder, the city of Smoke Can nestles in the crags of the Rockies like a patch of ragweed on a cliffside. It's a smaller city than it used to be, but it still has some great old buildings, not as run-down as you'd expect them to be. A young vulpine named Foxeris was born there. His early life was no more or less boring than many. At the age of 17, he cannot spell, has a memory with fewer holes than Swiss cheese (but not many), has a tendency to stutter when nervous, and is in general not especially talented at Magick. In fact, he is so completely UNtalented that I'm convinced there's got to be something going on. And he's a pretty bright kid otherwise. Unfortunately, along with the stutter, he also has a tendency to go along with stupid plans that his friends propose, just to "help them out" when they're in trouble. This seems to leave him holding the bag most of the time. And one of these stupid plans was to help bail a friend out, whose parents had planned to apprentice him to a Wizard, but becoming an apprentice would mean leaving Sharra his girlfriend, and couldn't Foxeris just help him out, take his place, when the Wizard finds out it wasn't really the right guy, he'd be sure to let Fox go, and besides ... you get the picture? Well, the Wizard in question was me. Frinklan the Obscure. Otter, Weatherworker, and the greatest mage you can find for the price, you name the price and I'll be great for you. Only there's this small problem. I don't do Magick, at least, not the way most folks do. Sure, I can do the usual minor stuff, light fires, talk to brownies, tell when someone's lying, bind contracts, that sort of thing. I also have this knack for weather, but that's not really a good thing to mess with, if you know what I mean. No, my powers, if you can call them that, seem to involve running into weird shit. Frog rain, ghosts, things from other worlds, bag ladies, that sort of stuff? Hell, I've had dinner with Dread C'thuhlu. He's a nice guy, if you don't mind day-glo orange stripes. You just have to make sure he doesn't think of you as the entree'. Anyway, I am told that I'm a Karma Wizard, but I don't see why my fondness for old gas burning vehicles should make me a wizard. For now, I'm stuck in Smoke Can, living in this run-down dump of a boarding house, and as I am an accredited Wizard, licensed by the review board and all, I figure I'll get some spendy by teaching some local rich kid how to do the cups-and-balls trick. Fine, except the rich kid's parents are on the ball, and the contract has a non-performance clause like you wouldn't believe. I know I didn't, but then I found out. See, the kid was supposed to find me himself. He's old enough, his parents don't have legal hold on him any more. They made some kind of deal with him, he could come study with me, they wouldn't throw him out of the house. Fine except that when he signed the contract he'd be bound as apprentice. Geas. And a nasty one. I think they worked for the city government. The meeting is set up like this: I wait at my "office" -- which is the coffee house down where the old city library used to be. The kid is a fox, age seventeen, and he'll be bringing his half of the contract. They've explained to him that the contract is to keep me from taking the money and skipping out, which I suppose is insulting. I already signed my half, of course, and got paid. So I'm waiting, and the hour is almost up, I am about to declare a default and get the notary to imprint for a no-show, so I can keep the money. Well, this fox kid shows up. Damn. We do the rigmarole, he explains that his parents suggested he study with me, etc. and all that. We sign the contract. I look at the name. "Foxeris" -- hell, that wasn't the name of the kid I'm supposed to teach. Then the spell in the contract locks in. And we're stuck -- the geas makes him violently ill if he goes more than 20 miles away from where I am, and it makes ME violently ill if I don't try to teach him Magick at least once a day. And the contract term is four years, unless I can get the little putz to learn enough Magick to qualify as journeyman before that. Anyway, I decide to start the way my teacher started me: with a journal. I write my lesson for the day in my journal, he reads it, and writes his own journal below it, and besides it satisfies this damned geas. If it doesn't improve his spellcasting and riting, at least he'll get used to expressing himself. I get the book, I get a scriber stick, and I get the rest of the money in silver links and travel scrip. I've got some travel ahead of me, especially if I read the chaos waves right. When I tell Foxeris about the travel, he gets real upset, but the geas won't let him stick around, and his folks don't seem to mind that he's prenticed himself. I wonder about them. It takes a while, but I finally put my paw down: I am leaving day after tomorrow, he can either come with me or stay behind and puke on his dear friend's parents porch. So where are we going?? I've got a friend to meet in Dales, a Human, name of Alex Harloon. He owes me money, I have one of his old paperbacks, and besides we meet every four years to get blotto together. And the signs and omens suggest this is the right time for me to go get blotto. Day after tomorrow, we head west, for the Columby Fords, then down the queen river of the north to Dales where the river used to be chained up. And no apprentice is gonna keep me from getting there. Got it? * * * I stood in front of the window of the thrid floor of 'Java Junkies' looking out onto the streets of Somke Can, and sighed. "Canron," I said to my self, "If I every get my hands I you, I will kill you, vilontly." "Again," A voice behind he asked, "Thats the third time this month isn't it?" I turned around and spoted my old friend, Xavier Bowmen. He was a human, rumor said he was from Before. Leaning up on his cane, he right knee was damaged some how, no healer could fix it, and gave me his lop-sided grin. "Ya," I said, "but this time I realy stepped in it." "In what way?" "Canron's parents where going to apprentance him to a Wizard, the only problem is he would have to leave Sharra, and I volintered to go in his place." "And...?" I quickly filled him in on the rest. "That explains the ring." I looked down at my right hand, once the contract had been signed the Wizard he had given me the standered Wizards ring. A think gold band, with a black dimond set in it, that could not be taken off until I reached the journyman. The color of the dimond changed to represend rank. Black for apprentance, Red for journeyman, and White for master. The removeil of the ring signifed retirment from Wizardry, which very few masters did. The ring could be magicly hidden, by a journyman or above, if the Wizard did want to advertse his persences. "Foxeris." Xavier said, snaping his fingers in front of my face. I snaped out of my self induced trance that I some times cause in my self when I realy get depressed. "How long was I out of it?" "About two mintues, so what is realy eating you, just geting drafted as a Wizard should get you this depressed." "True, we are heading out to Dales to meet a friend of his, and he has no plans of returning here for a while." "You didn't just step in it, you up to your neck." I gave him look 13, the 'Oh that realy helped' look. "What is his name?" He asked me. "Alex Harloon." "Alex isn't a Wizard." "No Alex is who he is going to see, the Wizards name is Frinklan the Obscure." He gave me that grin of his, "Never herd of him." "You and half the population of NorAmac." "So when do you leave?" "In about half an hour." "Here," he handed me a small bag, and a pice of paper "take that to Alex." "I take it you know him?" "Where old friends," he grined again. I rolled my eyes, and gestered with the hand holding the bag, "Whats this?" "Something I pick up when I was visinting my old caption. Tell Alex it's from David." "Ok, well Xavier, I gota go." I stuck my hand out, "See you in about four years." He shook my hand, "Mabey sooner, I was planing to head out for a bit, I have some people I haven't seen for years." I turned and headed for the stairs. "One more thing Fox." Xavier said behind me, I turned around. "If you every come apon a large black slab, that the mesherments reducie down to one by four by nine, run." I had know idea what he was talking about it, but I grined anyways, "Whatever Xavier." "C-ya kid." "Bye," I turned again, and walked down the stairs. --- --- --- This story is posted to rec.arts.comics.creative, alt.fan.furry, alt.pub.dragons-inn, and spk.literary. It is copyrighted 1995 by Stephen Hutchison and Fox Cutter. Permission is granted for archive with rec.arts.comics.creative and alt.pub.dragons-inn, and spk.literary. All other rights, including repost, are reserved to the authors. This story may not be distributed for a fee except by permission of the authors, and this copyright notice may not be removed.