From alt.pub.dragons-inn Tue May 16 08:40:05 1995 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:8431 Path: netcom.com!csus.edu!csulb.edu!info.ucla.edu!library.ucla.edu!agate!nntp-ucb.barrnet.net!nntp-hub2.barrnet.net!news1.digital.com!pa.dec.com!jac.zko.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][AI] Apprentice Inept 3: Homilies and Lessons Date: 15 May 1995 13:19:27 -0000 Organization: Duchy of Wabesylvan Obspauk Lines: 899 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 The sign on the table said "Story Buyer" and the gray little nondescript man behind the sign was waiting, quite patiently. There had been very little in the way of new tales, so that A'arden had considered relocating, until the black-hooded outlander had come in a few weeks back. The fellow brought journals that were, at least, a departure from the usual fare. Not great battles, not the annoying parade of mercantile successes that seemed to pass for stories among the less adventurous classes in Generica. The Dragon's Inn was empty today, and A'arden was ready to go wandering the streets in search of bards and storytellers. There was supposed to be some kind of celebration, a local festival, Rowan had told him. One of the Rabble who came to the Inn had spilled an improbable and lie-filled yarn about the celebration of the previous year, but it was such a patchwork of hearsay, fable, and the gossip of the streets, that A'arden had been forced to send the fellow away with a copper groat instead of the usual silver. Still, it meant that the story buyer might be able to find a tale or two of his own. As he began to fold his sign, a thumping noise came from one of the dark corners. He looked, curious, and was startled by the flash of a transient portal. A loud thud accompanied the flash, and with an almost graceful roll, the black-robed and sable-clad outlander rolled out from under the table and stood, using the staff to stop himself. "Ah'ar-den," the deep voice said from inside the depths of the hood. "You are still here. I feared you had gone." "No, not yet," the story buyer replied. "It's festival time here. Would you like to sell me your next bit of story first or would you go out first?" The head swung towards the bulletin board. "Story now, party later. I'll need the cash." A'arden unfolded his sign and quickly replaced the books and pens to their places. "Bob, my friend likes ale and fish," he called. The young man at the bar nodded and shouted into the kitchen while the outlander sat across from the story buyer. He opened the leather satchel at his side and pulled out, not one, but two books. "Oh dear," A'arden said, looking at the second one. "You're the agent for this?" "I have the rights to it. The owner wants me to get a good price." The black-gloved hands pushed both books towards A'arden. "They're marked where to start and stop." The story buyer nodded, and opened the first book. Apprentice Inept Homilies and Lessons By: Fox Cutter Steve Hutchison -- The Journal of Frinklan the Obscure -- '95 may 12en This has been one lousy day, if I do say so myself. First, we lost one of the horses. So much for my worry about what will happen when we get to the Columby. It was my horse, too. Foxeris thought I was going to make him walk, but I'm not that cruel, even if I do think he needs to GROW UP! Argh. Calm. Must keep temper. Moping foxes are not a reason to be disturbed. Breathe, in, out ... Come on, Frinklan, you don't blink when purple frogs rain from the sky, don't let one case of late-teen-angst push you over the edge. He's doing it to bug you, you know that. OK. Cope. Better. Now. Where was I? Oh yes. We had just crossed the ridge above Honor Farms' protected valley and I had found a camp spot, where we all had lunch. At least, Fox and I had lunch, and we fed the horses. Faith, well, ghosts don't eat, but she did sort of tune in on us; she says it's almost as good as eating when a person shares the meal. I'm not sure about how that works. There's a lot of this spirit-magic stuff that I'm not sure of. Maybe I better find a teacher and trade skills. I know there's a school in Ujiin that needs a weather-master. OW! Damn geas-cramp! OK, not until Fox is trained. That does it. Those weasels in Smoke Can are going to regret ever casting a geas in their whole soon-to-be-painfully-prolonged lives. I better see how Fox is doing with that foxfire cantrip. With him upset over the horse, you never ... Yeah, he's got it now. Not bad. He'll be able to find his way to the refuse-pit in the dark without help tonight. Back to the narrative. We had finished lunch and started the westward trek. We were maybe an hour and a half along the road when we came to a washout. The old road crosses a gully at this point, and the bridge had been damaged, it was not safe to cross. I figured there would be a road crew along in a few weeks, but this was fresh, so I set up a circle and had Fox watch the horses. It's a traveler's duty to send out the warning when a road goes, and to find a way around until it gets fixed. So, I got in the circle, and stepped up to the Spirit Realm. There was a message bird sitting in the heart-shaped box on the spirit-pole by the bridge. Main problem with message birds, though, is that you have to cast your message in the form of a poem, and that took me a while, because all I could come up with were filthy limericks. Faith didn't help either; she hangs out in the Spirit Realm naturally, and when I left my body in the circle, she decided she was going to help me out with the poem. That's why I kept coming up with filthy limericks, she kept making lewd suggestions with every line. Anyway, I got the bird sent off, and it came back instantly the way they always do. It told me to mark the north-side detour at the previous mile-post. So I got back in my body, after fending off some, ah, advances from Faith. I don't think she ever met my mate RubyPuma or she wouldn't be trying to get me in trouble like this. Or maybe she would -- cats seem to like me, y'know? (Yes, Foxeris, I have a mate. She's a Ranger, lives on the coast right now, and after I meet with Alex and get stinking drunk, I'm planning to go visit her until she gets fed up and throws me out of the house again. And before you ask, no, she's not a Magician, nor a Wizard, but she does know how to take care of herself.) The milepost was only about ten minutes back up the road, so we went back and I flipped the marker over so it pointed to the north detour. It had some pretty heavy wear, I suspect it's been used a lot. Anyway, the north detour was a pretty crummy road by comparison with the Old Road. There wasn't any kind of special surface or anything, and we had to touch up the paint on the markers a couple times. I had just gotten off my horse to do that very thing, when there was a sort of ripping feeling in the fabric of the world and I felt my whiskers start tingling. Then something rather like a miniature thunderbird shot past my head, and my horse bolted. I started to throw out a ward to keep the thing from attacking when it vanished through some kind of a gap in the air, and the tingling in my whiskers stopped abruptly. Remember, I said before that I'm a Karma Wizard? This was just one of those weird random things that happens around me. It comes with the territory. So, my horse had bolted, and was off the trail, which was not a good thing. The ash flats we're crossing are generally safe, but there are still a few sinkholes, and my horse managed to find one. By the time I caught up with it, the poor thing had drowned in ash, and magic and CPR couldn't bring it back. So I got one of the local Earth Dwellers attention, and offered it half of the horse if it would fetch it out for me, which it did. We packed the meat from the rest of it and put it on the pack horse, wrapped in a don't-rot cantrip. I did the thank-you to its spirit, for letting us eat its body, and then we made our way back to the detour. Foxeris was pretty shaken up. I think he felt like he'd screwed up or something, and I didn't say anything to him at the time. But it's not his fault. So he can quit glooming about it any time now. The detour took us a half-day out of our way, what with the delays and me being on foot, and it was night by the time we reached the campsite, and my paws hurt -- I'm built more for swimming than for long walks, most Otters are. Still. Only one day until we reach the river and then I can swim it. Enough for tonight. I'm going to set an exercise for Fox here, and then set up for the first watch. The exercise is this, 'prentice: you are to write a description of me, as you see me. It doesn't have to be complete, just accurate enough to be comprehensible. This is an example for you: Foxeris is a fox-man in his early adult years, by appearance about age 17 to 19. He's got the usual two-inch-long red-brown fur with a white belly and chest, the usual black paws and ear-tips. He took the usual digitigrade path in his adaption of the fox-spirit, and his legs are thus more foxlike than humanlike. In general his frame is lean, not especially filled-out, the sort of body one would expect from either a runner or from one unaccustomed to grindingly hard labor. He's of average height for the Foxen, a whisker under six feet. Oh yes, and his tail is a beautiful brush that drags on the ground when he's depressed. Fox tails are the justifiable pride of their kindred, and Foxeris has a tail that any fox would boast of. His eyes are large and of a hazel color that tries to be green and brown at the same time; his ears are large, and very mobile. His head follows the Fox conformation very closely, sufficiently that if one were foolish enough, they could think he was low-browed and unintelligent. His paws took the human conformation, in general, though his claws are still foxen, and somehow they're retractable -- some lingering bit of his parents' influence, I suppose, since they're both hunting-cats. His voice in conversation varies in pitch, ranging from high-pitched tenor when he is excited to a near basso-profundo when he is tired. This, combined with a persistent stutter and the teenager-ish standard shy-yet-belligerent attitude with strangers, can reinforce the image of youthful inexperience that he projects. He can be excitable, he jumps to conclusions, he is impatient, and he seems to be somewhat insecure, but then, he is also honest and tries to do his best whenever possible. * * * Ok, well here's my description of the boss: He's an tallish (for an otter) almost 6 feet of, what he would want people believe, nearly heroic proportions. His fur is the normal dark-brown that all otters have, though it does tint to gold around his muzzle, ears, and paws. Interesting enough his legs are formed like humans, something that isn't that common, at least in my experience. At best guess I would say he was about 30, but that can be deceiving considering that he is a magic user. His eyes are very interesting, and a bit disturbing, blue-violet, that gives you the feeling that he's look at you like your something to eat. He's frame is the standard otter, with short legs, and otter shaped head. He paws are the basic human design, with no claws. He's voice is near a deep bass but not overwhelmingly so. He probable one of the calmest people I have ever met, out side of Xavier that is. I get the feeling that if the sky fell down on his head he wouldn't get mad, of course that probably from his being a Karma Wizard, and also because he's a Karma Wizard it would not surprise me if it DID! He's honest (at least from what I can tell), and tries to do what he thinks is best, even if it's not right. * * * Not bad, kid. Hey, I never said I have heroic proportions, did I? Must have been some other guy. I'm pretty strong, I'll admit -- something you might think about, considering that wild animals aren't the only things we can run into on these roads. And, you're right, I am tall for an otter. That's because I'm a Sea Otter, and six foot is short to average for the Sea Otter kindred. And Sea Otters don't have the kind of claws you're used to. We do have webbed paws though. Still, when we meet up with Alex I'll show you the difference between my stubby little claws and his nails. Oh yeah, and you'll see the difference between my legs and human-form legs, too. It's subtle but it's there. Human legs are built for loping, for long distances. Mine are built more for short-distances and sprints, and to help me move in the water. Anyway, I'm glad to see that you've figured out my moods. That's one of the tricks you'll have to learn in travelling -- how to cold-read people. Your parents were panther and tigress, and they have a lot of the cat attitudes and body language. When they're mad at you, they either hiss and spit and whack you, or they sulk. I've got otter attitude -- when I'm mad I'll attack you, but when I'm quiet it means I'm thinking or tired, not that I'm sulking. And you're right, also, that I'm unusually calm, but I try to think of it as more "zen" attitude. Most otters are pretty off the wall but it's not a good habit for a magician to get into. Especially it's not a good habit for me to get into. One thing, 'prentice -- we've fixed your problem with mis-spelling words but there's room for improvement. You have homonym trouble. This can get you in real sticky when you're putting a spell together. I can put together another aid, but it'll be a while before I can find the right components. Well, I'm going to sleep now, you and Faith have first watch, and I set the warning wards while you were writing. * * * * '95 May 13dh Nothing ate us in the night, more's the pity. There was a landslide in the area where I wanted to take us down to the water. I didn't write this down last night, but this campsite is near a cliff. The old road has a steel-and-concrete bridge that goes over the Columby, which has been kept intact by bribing the waterfolk and by carefully rune-spelling the supports. Thing is, it doesn't really give access to the water, and the river is some distance below. So we left the road just about a half hour after sunset last night, made our way to the campsite where the old rest area used to be, and then this morning, we found out about the landslide. There's an alternate route, which is south of the bridge. It's a little trickier, but the pack horse may be able to handle it anyway. Trouble is, it goes past a Troll Point. I was hoping to be on the water itself and thus avoid paying the Troll, but I was able to talk the fellow into taking Foxeris' riding horse instead. Fox thought the guy was going to eat it, but I knew better -- he's going to sell it to the next group coming up the south road. Trolls -- that reminds me. Foxeris needs to know about trolls. They tend to guard crossings, bridges, intersections, any place where the traffic is steady enough. They keep the roads and bridges and travel rests clean and well repaired. They charge for that service, though. Nobody knows where they came from, for sure, but I think they are just another branch of the Nature Folks, like the Straw Man in the barn ands the Brownie in the house. They live in the world's dreaming, and it's the magic of the living that gives them access to the waking world. Trolls are not especially perilous. They're tough, and they won't let you cross their structures unless you pay, but they don't usually charge too much. You can even barter services with them. It's the other ones you have to worry about. Anyway, back to the daylight world. It's just a bit before noon now, and the switchback is a half-day's hike away. From what I have heard, and Foxeris overheard from the merchants we met last week, the area above the switchback is dangerous to camp in. It's exposed, there are wild things that range through there, and the water isn't wholesome. I've decided to camp here for the night. We continue on in the morning, arrive at the switchback by noon, and that should put us on the canyon floor about three hours after noon tomorrow. * * * I was a bit restless, I had the strange feeling that something was about to happen, something that would change my life, AGAIN. I decided to ask the boss about it. A quick glance around and I found him standing next to the canyon, looking down. I went over to him. "Boss?" I asked. He looked up, from the look in his eyes he was wanted something, I guess it was the water bellow. "Wanting to get back into the water?" I asked him. "Yes," he said, "I miss it. I don't get to swim as often as I would like." I nodded my head, "I would love to say I know how you feel, but I don't." "Yes," he sighed, and head back to the camp. I shook my head, then remembered that I never asked my question, I turned and was about to follow him when I heard a loud crack. I looked down, about 3 feet in front of there was a crack in the ground. Then there was a lurch, and I felt my self fall a bit. The cracked had widened, and was now bending down. That's when I realized I was standing on a ledge, and it was about to give way. I crouched to jump, thus shifting my weight. Suddenly the rock under me gave way and I felt my self fall. I turned in the air, and hit the slanting side of the Canyon head first. Then everything went black. * * * I moaned a bit, and opened my eyes, looking right into the sun. I raised paw to block the sun. I could see the canyon wall rising up next to me, and the top I could see the boss sticking his over. I shifter a bit, and a shoot of pain when up my right leg. I looked at it, laying on top of my leg, propped up by some small rocks, was a large rock. It was about 3 feet wide, and 2 feet high. Glancing up the side of the cliff I could see where the rock and fallen from, about 5 feet above me. I was a bit lucky there, if it had started a few feet higher it would have smashed my leg into paste. I looked closer at the rock. It was just pressing on my leg, it appeared that if I could lift it a few inches, I would be able to get my leg out. I searched around the canyon floor, finally my eyes rested on a piece of driftwood that was half in and half you of the water, it was about five feet long, perfect from my needs. I reached over my head to where it was, and grabbed it. I then used it to push one of the smaller rocks between me and the rock. I shoved the end of the driftwood under the rock, and using it with the other stone, lifted it a few inches. I held it down as I moved my leg out. I then started to lower the rock, when there was a snap, and the drift wood broke in half, the rock slamming to the ground. I shook my head, and looked at my leg, there was a few small cuts. Amazingly my leg was not broken, but my ankle was twisted. I felt over the rest of my body. All in all I was ok, my shirt and my shorts where ripped, I had lost one of my sandals. The exposed parts of my body where cover with some scratches, and there was a large lump on the back of my head. I picked up the driftwood, planing to use it to stand, and looked it over. It was now about 3 foot long, about an inch thick, there was a crook near one end, that would make a good handle, it appeared it be from a tree. I stood, and limped a bit, using it as a cane. I looked back up the canyon and saw the boss was still looking down at me, I waved at him. It was then I heard a voice beside me whisper, "how is your leg?" I turned my head and saw the outline of Faith. "It's a bit twisted, but I can walk on it, though at half speed." "i will inform frinklan." She said and floated off. I looked at the canyon a sighed, it was a little under a hundred feet up. There was no way I could get up them, so I turned towards the switchback, and stared limping. A few minutes later Faith appeared in front of me, "frinklan wants you to stop," she said, "he will come down and get you." I shook my head, "No, the switchback is 12 miles away, I can walk half way there today, camp, then walk the other half, getting to the switchback at the same time as you." "no," She said. "Listen, the boss wants me to be a good apprentice, that includes not slowing the party down too severely, and being able to survive on my own for a brief period of time. He should have no objection to that." I looked up at the noon day sun, "If he doesn't like it he can tell me all about it in 24 hours. No go tell him, please." Faith vanished again, and I continued on. Faith never reappeared so I assumed that the boss agreed with me. * * * I knew the moment I turned my back on him that Foxeris was in trouble, just from the feel of my whiskers tingling. The kid had managed to find the wrong spot to stand on. OK, that's not fair -- the whole edge of the canyon was crappy here, I'd just found the only safe place to stand on, and I didn't really warn him or anything. I knew he'd survive the fall. There wasn't a Death hanging around. But that didn't mean he'd be okay. I called Faith from where she was ghosting about spooking our remaining horse, and she drifted down to where Fox was lying pinned under a chunk of rock. She came back and told me he wasn't hurt badly, then went down again to tell him to wait for me. Well, he didn't want to. His reasons were valid, too. Besides which, the switchback was far enough away that it'd stress the limits on our master/apprentice geas. This would only make me very uncomfortable, but the shock on top of his injuries from the fall could make him one sick Fox. Walking would help him work off the shock and keep his ankle from swelling, too. I had to stay up on the rim and break camp and load up the pack horse, but he was moving slowly so I had time to work. I had Faith watch him. If it looked like he'd need a splint, or if he had a concussion or anything, I'd get down there the fast way, but it's no good to waste favors with the Dwellers in Air for something that isn't critical. When I got packed, he was a fair way up the river. I had to go around to avoid a place where the cliff opened on a little arroyo by a dry side stream. That took me about five miles out of my way and Faith came back to report on the Fox -- he'd stopped for dinner, and he seemed OK, no concussion, and he'd speared a small fish. He had no trouble cooking it with his Foxfire spell tuned to "heat". I headed further south, until an hour before sunset, when I felt the geas-link start to tighten. That meant it was time to make camp for the night. I set the wards and had the pack horse fed, and I was just making my dinner when the flashes started in the west. My whiskers were tingling again. I turned up the wards, and pulled a hand telescope out of my satchel. The flashes looked like a thunderstorm, and the smell of ozone and water-on-dust started making its way along the wind. This was the middle of spring, but the storm season was supposed to be over, no such luck. The storm got closer. Were I a paranoid Otter I would have been suspicious about the way it stopped moving west and north, and took a detour to head straight at me. However, I knew why it was doing that. I could see the saucers moving around in the thunderhead, pushing it towards me. About twenty years ago I, how you say, annoyed, some local representatives of a conspiracy of what like to call themselves "galactic civilization". They were building a base on the north magnetic pole and intended to use the momentum energy of the earth to power a sort of shunt into subspace. Sergi in Siber sent me the warning, he's the Karma Wizard for Asia, a Yeti -- nice fellow, his wives are very friendly. Anyway, the shunt itself wasn't so bad, but four or five years of traffic, with incoming ships speeding up the planet and outgoing ships slowing it down, and all that energy shocking the crustal plates and increasing tectonics, and we'd be no better off than Venus -- which another company happens to use. So, I went to their place and got them to invite me to dinner and we had a lovely tour and all the while I was there, I summoned Gremlins. You may not know about Gremlins -- they're not cute little furry guys that turn nasty if you feed 'em after dark. They're not Old Folk automobiles with ugly noses. Gremlins come from the world dreaming and they're the fears and hatred of every technophobe and saboteur and luddite who ever lived. The only reason the saucers still work is because they're alive in their own right, and the Gremlins won't attack the living directly. The t't'jabbi' invited me into their home, like I said, and treachery was in their hearts, not to mention poison was in their soup, which means I was free to return their betrayal. You may ask how I knew about these guys. Well, I had help from one of their number, but I won't give any more details. It's enough that I was their guest, I ate their k'hes and slada, I gave them p'ruoi, and as a result they're forbidden to kill me outright. Also, since I counted coup on their leader-drone without killing it, their honor won't let them obey its commands until they kill me. It's something that's wired into their buggish little brains. I'd be worried, except that they can't just use their orbital lasers, they have to attack me with weapons that I can use, and the only weapon we have in common is, you guessed it, the weather. Last time they came after me was six years ago and I trashed their base, and it took them this long to recoup. It took me a half hour to get the fire and the dance-circle ready, and another ten minutes to raise power. Weather magic is harder to work when the weather isn't natural. Anyway, I had my thunderbird headgear and the wind catcher and the lightning stick, which meant that as soon as it got within six miles of me I had the storm half under my control. I suppose I could tell you the story of how I heroically threw lightning at them, frying their ships, etc. etc. etc. -- well, I didn't. I kept the winds from being quite enough to blow my camp away, and I kept the rain from washing us off the face of the Basin. The rest, I waited for them to do. And they did -- the fools used their weather control device to shape a tornado. In the lexicon of magic, the word for tornado is "marid" -- they're spirits of air with tremendous power. The thing is, there's only a few such spirits around, and they manifest in the world whenever a tornado occurs. Years ago when I was an apprentice, I did a weather-summoning spell at the wrong time and in the wrong place and screwed it up -- the result was a Marid. That was when my Wizard talent first showed up. I wasn't fazed by the whirlwind, and it was the only one of its kind in the whole northwest. And I made friends with it. Marids are generally friendly if you have a Seal of Solomon and you're not rude. And they repay their debts, and they're tremendously loyal to their friends. t't'jabbi' weather control is derived from their force-field technology, which is mechanically simple -- they dump ions into the storm, constrain the flow with a magnetic impeller. They use planes of pseudo-solid energy to make fans and walls and wind guides... but _those_ are mechanically complex, and they were using them to coerce the Marid. It's part of the laws of nature, the elementals are limited to their bodies while they're manifest on earth, just like people. It wasn't easy, keeping the weather magic working to defend myself while I looked along the lines of the chao for a karma breach. After a few minutes I noticed one, and gave the appropriate "push" -- and a cloud of little green imps with leather helmets and goggles, and weird little tee-shaped tails came boiling out of the world dreaming, across the nowhere, and into the Manifest World. I don't know exactly what they did to the energy machines that the t't'jabbi' were using. I know the chao lines were really twisted for a while, enough to weaken the wards on the camp. Anyway, the machinery died (the Gremlins left as soon as they had nothing left to wreck) and that set the marid free, and he removed his erstwhile captors from their ships, and sent the ships home. The Marid and I had a little chat, then he released the Air and the tornado was gone, and four t't'jabbi' revengers sat in the mud in front of me, and I let the storm rain itself out. Around midnight another saucer-ship from their base showed up, and the leader-drone's armiger, the one who's trying to kill me, came out and asked me for terms. I send the five of them home, on the condition that they leave me alone for at least a decade. Anything more would have been a blood-insult, since the armiger is getting old and frail. I had to give him a chance to succeed before he dies. Now that everything was finally calmed down, storm blown away, I got a chance to see what had happened to my camp. Everything was soaked, of course, except for the things in my satchel and the stuff in the horse-packs, which really are waterproof. The horse had bolted. Faith was gone. I set the strongest aversion I had left on the camp, and went off in search of them. It wasn't very far to where they were. As I should have expected, the horse had panicked at the lightnings when the wards were weakened, and tried to run. As soon as she broke thru the barrier of my wards, she was unprotected from the hail, the rain, the rocks and branches blown around by the proximity to the Marid. She took a large branch against the side of her head and fell. When I came upon her, the mare was breathing, labored heavy gasps, and her aura was curiously doubled. I saw the dull red where a rib had broken, and spots of amber where she had been bruised. The blow to the head had only knocked her down, as far as I could tell. A web of silver ran through her body. I touched it gently, and heard a whispered voice. "frinklan. what has happened?" "I don't know," I answered, as I traced the Rune of Joining over the rib. The medical song I used was one I learned from an ostler in the cavalry back in the city-wars. The rib was dragged into its correct place, the bone ends knitting together, the tissues knitting behind it. Faith screamed when the bones returned to their proper place. "what did you do to me, you fish-eating refugee from a sewer?" Her voice was still the faint whisper of a ghost, but I felt something strange happening again, a sort of self-satisfied "click" as some event fell into place. I hate that sensation. It means the karma breach has exacted its price. I looked, very closely, at the silver web that ran through the horse. Faintly overlaying the mare's head, I could see Faith's ghost-image. It took a few minutes to figure out just how tangled they were. "Uh oh," I remember saying, intelligently. During the height of my wrestling with the storm, when the magical energies of the Marid were being freed, when the chao lines were snarling, the mare broke out of the safety of the wards. Faith had stayed with the mare. When it was injured, she kept it alive, alternately frightening and comforting it as she kept its head out of the mud so it could breathe. At the end she had resorted to holding it with what force she could exert, and it grew (she said) curiously easier to do. She could almost feel the pack horse's body responding to her will. But something had happened when I used the Rune of Joining to repair the broken rib. She was caught in the horse's life-force. It only got worse as I repaired the other injuries -- all I heard was her whispery voice cursing like a raft-loader. I finally got a few hours of sleep, once we got back to the camp, and Faith was not happy about being a pack-horse, however tenuously. But this is beyond my skill with spirit-magic, and it's going to take a very good specialist to unweave this particular web. It's halfway to noon, but I expect I'll make good time. It "feels" right. * * * Foxeris Journal. It was all most dark when I stopped, a few miles down river. It was a sandy bit of beach, a bit damp, it was a decent place to spend a night out doors at, not the best, but good enough. I spotted something just before sunset, it was a dark line in the river that turned out to be the reflection of a cave. I checked it out and there weren't any wild animals, so I stayed the night in the cave. I think my night wasn't as exciting. * * * -- The Journal of Frinklan the Obscure -- '95 may 14th We reached the bottom of the switchback a few hours after noon. Fox was waiting for us at the bottom. He looked dirty, leaning on his cane, two of the whiskers on the right side of his muzzle missing. "Sheared off during the fall," he explained. I chose to take his word for it. I looked at his ankle and nothing was broken or even cracked, but he had some bruising. I showed him a low-intensity healing trance to use when we were resting, and then we went over to the pack horse to get the journal. I told him to wait until this evening to read my entry. I wanted to see if he would figure out the situation with Faith. His entry was brief but short. I shrugged, and he returned the journal to me and asked if I had a second one. "Yes," I said dubiously, "Why do you ask?" "I want to keep my own journal for stuff that I don't want you to read." I looked at him without blinking for a minute, then agreed. I gave him the second journal from my satchel and keyed the clasp to his paw. He started writing as soon as I was out of eyeshot. I figured he couldn't get into trouble and I could see what the river was going to offer us in the way of transport. * * * * * * A'arden closed the first book. "The usual. Two silver wheels." "Five and residuals." "You never forget a contract, do you?" A'arden scowled at the stranger, but his heart wasn't in it. "Do the next one, now." The last fish, speared on a knife, disappeared into the darkness of the hood. "Fine, all right." * * * * * * -- The Journal of Foxeris the Apprentice Inept -- '95 may 14th This is a chronicle of the events that occurred the day and night previous to this entry. I told Frinklan that I stayed in a cave, this was true, but this is how it really happened. When it was getting dark I found a place to stop for the night. I sat down on the sand, and looked out at the river. It looked kind of unreal, the stars reflecting off of the smooth water, marred only by a line of darkness. At this I raised my eyebrow, stood and walked over to it. It was made up of some kind of gray stone, it was about five inches above the water on each side. There was a hum emanating from it, I placed my paw on top of it, it was slightly warm, and vibrated. "Who are you?!" A voice barked from behind me. "My name is Foxeris." "Turn around!" I did so. Behind me part of the canyon wall had slid to the side, reveling a cave. Someone stood, silhouetted, in the light of the cave. He held one of his arms up, pointed at me. "What are you doing here?" He asked. "I fell down the wall about six miles back, I'm working my way to the switch-back." "Step into the light." I limped forward a few feet into the light from the cave. He looked me over and lowered his arm. "Come on it, I have a free bed, and some food." "Thank you." I said, and limped into the cave. I was limping in to the cave, the silhouette moved back, so I could enter. As I stepped in side I heard a grinding behind me. I turned around and saw the cave mouth had closed. Standing next to the closed opening was a beaver. He towered above my 5 foot seven inches, I would guess that he was close to 7 feet tall. His fur was of a light colour, I would guess he was 30 or so. "Hello," he said, presenting me his hand, "my name is Brad Majors, welcome to my home." I shook his hand. "Two names, I take it your one of the first children?" He grinned, "Yep, I'm also one of the first Mages. I've been credited with a few miracles." "I'm on my way to become one, weather I like it or not." He raised an eyebrow, "Oh?" "Yes," I sniffed the air, and smelled food, "I'll tell you about it over dinner." He nodded, "I hope you like fish." * * * An hour later I sat on one side of round table, Brad on the other side, between us was a large plate with 10 cooked fish on it, next to it was another plate filled with fish bones. "So basically," Brad said, licking his fingers, "is that your what would be called an apprentice inept back at The Area." "Apprentice inept, I like that, and The Area doesn't exist." I said. "Yes it does. I was born there." he said, referring to the place know as Area 51, supposedly a place in Naradda that had never succombed to magic. It was a big thing Before, but in these in-lighted days, no one believes a word of it. "I'm sorry, I don't believe a word of it." He chuckled. "It's ok, at least I don't have to worry about Zaphod trying to steal from it." He grind at his private joke. I dropped the bones of the fish I was working on, and licked off my fingers, "A question." "Yes." "What is that gray, humming, thing in the water?" "My dam, I use it for some of my spells, it's also how I run that." He pointed up at the glowing ball in the ceiling. I finished with my fingers and nodded my head, "Ok, also you said that you have done some miracles, name one?" He grinned, "Remember that mysterious Mage that saved Lost Angels and The Sands of Dego?" I remember that, it happened back in 2025, a major earthquake ripped though Kalifornia, sinking most of it, a Mage seen from afar had casted a spell saving the two major cites, Lost Angels and The Sands of Dego. "I don't believe that was you." "It was, though it's hard to prove. Your choice if you want to believe me." I shook my head, "Ok, are you going to let me out in the morning, or are you going to tell me how to open the door?" "I'm up most of the night, to open the door press the red lever next to the door, it will open up, then close in two minutes." "Thank one, may I ask where my bed is?" "Second door to the right." I nodded and started to stand. "Stop," he said, "there is something I want first." I groaned, the catch. "What?" "I'm going to need help from you twice in the future. When, I do not know, but I will." I sighed, "Very well." "Good, now I need to markers." Then in one quick move he wiped his hand next to the right side of the face, I felt a shoot of pain. Immediately I put my paw to my muzzle, two center two whiskers where gone. I gave him look 27, the 'Why the Hell did you do that?' look. "I need two things from you, one for each time, so I can call you, they need to be something you should have, but don't." I cocked my head, rubbing my muzzle, "What do you plan to do when they grow back?" "There not, ever." "WHAT!?" I yelled, growing up with two cats, and a wolf (my sister), you get to understand the beauty of whiskers, I admit I'm not as extreme as some people, but I would never want to lose them. So you can understand why this pissed me off. Brad looked at me, "You agreed. Now one more thing." "What." I said a bit crossly. "You must never, EVER tell anyone about me." He said threatening me with his voice. I looked at him, "Very well." I growled, "Goodnight." I stood, and walked my room from the night. * * * * * A'arden looked up. "That's it? He just went to bed?" "Yeah. It's a journal, not a novel." The story buyer shrugged. "Well, it'll just add flavor." The black-cloaked outlander nodded and pulled the books back into the satchel. "How much?" "Oh, this is different? Well, I'd say, one and a half wheels and possibility of more if it catches on. It looks to me like it's just an expansion of the other story, you see." The hood swung from side to side and violet fires sparked in the depths. "No, I know your rules. It's a different story and it gets the full credit a story gets." A'arden shrugged. "Fine, two silver wheels and I'll keep the option of stopping if it gets too derivative. Remember the first journal has the same point of view in it." "That is variable." The profferred coins were dragged into the satchel and the outlander stood. "I think I may wander a bit, I've always liked free parties." 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.