Raquel's Trade
Part 10: The Way Things Work
by Dr. Mercurious
Elsewhere was not just the concept, but the name of the place; no one else had come up with a better one, in Eddie's opinion. How else do you describe a dimension of swirling colors? Nothing else seemed to exist in Elsewhere -- even the 'ground' was due to the will of whoever was visiting. Eddie often wondered if Elsewhere was a stillborn reality or just in the fetal stage. Coming here was the final test to become either a Lord of White or Black. The ones who failed...the bulldog preferred not to dwell on that. As a master of Necromancy he knew all about fates worse than death, and what had happened to those poor souls on a nastiness scale of 1 to 10 was a 37.
A figure winked into existence aside of him. "Hello, Edward," it said after studying him for a moment. "You look rather gray around the gills today. Something go wrong?"
Eddie mentally shook off his contemplation and grinned up at his opposite number. "No such thing when it comes to Chaos, horn-head. After all, we ain't big on elaborate plans."
Phaeron, Lord of White for the past twenty-five hundred years, snorted loudly. "I highly doubt that." As always, he wore an all-concealing hooded robe which somehow managed to hide his horn.
"Look," Eddie said, suddenly weary of baiting the fur, "Can we have some sort o' civilized conversation without all this garbage?"
The figure pushed the cowl back, revealing a horse's head with midnight-black fur, a white mane and a single long golden horn spiraling out of his forehead. Oddly enough, it was then his feet -- silvery hooves -- became visible and his flowing tail could be seen sticking out of the back of the robe. "Someone sounds nervous," he noted.
"Can it," he snapped at the unicorn. "You 'n me, we both know our two sides need each other ta survive and grow. We gotta talk before the Lords Of Magic show up, and this may be our last chance 'fore things really get sticky.""
Phaeron's crystal-blue eyes softened slightly. "You're right; I apologize. This Raquel business has me worried."
Eddie grimaced. "Damn straight. On the short-term this'll help us Blacks out, but in the long run? I ain't so sure. Besides, how the hell did a non-Gifted become a Guide in the first place? That rule's been in place since the Lord of Magic set up the Contest of the Guide. It can't be broken. Makes me wonder what other rules are flexible that shouldn't be, know what I'm sayin' here?"
"Indeed," Phaeron nodded. "I wonder if the Lords will tell us what's going on."
"Betcha they won't," Eddie shot back
"I won't take that bet," Phaeron agreed. "I'd like some chance of winning. The fact that they weren't here when we arrived suggests interesting times are upon us."
THEY ALWAYS ARE.
There was no visual sign of the Lord of Magic; the overwhelming sense of their presence was a more than adequate indicator of their arrival. No White or Black had ever seen one, or even knew what kind of fur they were. They claimed to have dominion over magic itself and from what Eddie knew he was inclined to believe them. Still, belief and respect were two different things, and as a Black he had a deep-seated distrust of any authority he didn't understand. He snickered openly at Phaeron. "I do believe someone's been eavesdroppin'."
"Edward," Phaeron chided, but he could see a twinkle of amusement in the unicorn's eye. "I'm sure the Lords are above that sort of thing."
YOU WISH THE RIGHT TO ASK THREE QUESTIONS? As always, the Lords Of Magic got straight to the point.
"Yes, Lords," Phaeron answered with a smooth bow. Eddie decided to let the unicorn handle this part of it as he was a better brown-noser.
CONCERNING THE CHOICE OF GUIDE, NO DOUBT.
"Yes, Lords."
HAS SHE PERFORMED INADEQUATELY?
"Not at all," Phaeron assured them. "We were merely concerned, as she is unGifted and therefore ineligible for Guide status.
YOU SEEM VERY SURE OF THAT FACT.
Phaeron's muzzle opened and closed a couple of times but no sound came out; Eddie groaned to himself. I was afraid o' this, he fumed. The Lord of White in his four-thousand-plus years of life had picked up more magical knowledge than a score of Gifted but had managed to miss learning anything about verbal fisticuffs. It was time to step in. "We're as certain as we can be without consultin' wiser heads," he interrupted. "That's why both of us are here, tremblin' in our ignoramusness." He adopted a puzzled look. "Is that even a word? I ain't sure."
NO, IT IS NOT.
Gotcha, he thought gleefully. "Thanks fer answerin' the first of our three questions," he told them. "'Scuse me whilst I consult with my colleague."
He sidled up to Phaeron. "Your penchant for taking gambles borders on the suicidal," the unicorn noted in a strained voice, blue eyes bulging.
"Shaddap and help me think o' the other two," Eddie told him. "I'll get a roarin' case o' the heebie-jeebies later, I promise."
Phaeron blinked rapidly. "We need to know who was responsible for getting Raquel chosen, because I'll bet it wasn't the Lords' idea," he advised. "From there, we can find out the why and how on our own without wasting our last question."
"Good thinkin'," Eddie approved. He turned back to the presence of the Lords. "Who was responsible fer gettin' Raquel Fayral chosen as Guide?"
THE REQUEST WAS MADE BY XENDAEN MITHRILSINGER; WE APPROVED OF HER REASONING AND GRANTED IT.
Phaeron's head snapped up. "But...Xendaen lived over one thousand years ago! How..."
Eddie tackled the unicorn before the ill-thought words tumbled out of his mouth. Phaeron neighed in astonishment as the two tumbled about in the aether of Elsewhere, gravity forgotten as they spun aimlessly. Eddie winced in anticipation as the deadly horn closed in on him...the relaxed as it stopped.
"Thanks," came the unicorn's very sheepish voice.
"No prob," Eddie grinned at him. "Not that I ain't curious over the same thing, but askin' questions spontaneously gets ya inta trouble. We oughta consider this."
Phaeron nodded as the two disentangled. Eddie thought hard as Phaeron scratched his chin in contemplation; logically, they should ask if Xendaen had been reincarnated. The bulldog couldn't let Phaeron find the Dark Minstrel before he did -- the fur would kill her out of hand, and he'd never meet his ideal woman. "Well," he drawled, feigning a tone of regret, "I don't see any other question than 'how' meself."
"I agree," Phaeron nodded. "We can guess the why ; it was part of her plan to reveal the existence of magic to the world. It's why she did everything later on in her life. Mind if I take this one?"
Two fer two; I'm on a roll, Eddie thought gleefully to himself, resisting the urge to wag his stub tail. "Knock yourself out."
"How did Xendaen arrange for a non-Gifted to become the Guide?" Phaeron asked the Lords.
SHE CONTACTED US.
"We figured that," Phaeron snorted. "Could you please be more specific?"
"And you accuse me o' takin' risks?" Eddie marveled.
HER CLAIM WAS THAT SINCE ALL GIFTEDS WERE EITHER WHITE OR BLACK, THE GUIDE WOULD NEVER BE IMPARTIAL. THEIR VERY NATURE WOULD GIVE AN ADVANTAGE TO THEIR SIDE.
"So she arranged for a test sometime in the future -- where Gifted have a hard time hiding as it is, just to help keep us honest," Phaeron mused.
"Then, o' course, is the rule that says a Guide can't be held responsible fer anythin' they do while a Guide," Eddie cut in. "Means we just can't pack her up to Avalon and no one on the other side can try anything permanent until she performs Guide duty fer the Black."
"No White worthy of the name would even consider breaking such a rule," Phaeron told him stiffly.
He got touchy all of a sudden, Eddie wondered at his counterpart. Better do some snoopin' when I get back. Openly, he gave Phaeron a feral grin. "Good fer them. The Contest of the Guide's been the only thing keepin' Whites and Blacks from open warfare fer the past two-thousand years or so. Be a shame if all that cooperation goes in the crapper."
THE RULES GOVERNING THE HANDLING OF THE GUIDE ARE IN ABEYANCE, The Lords interrupted. NO SIDE IS GUILTY OF INFRACTION.
"Speaking of sides," Phaeron said, giving Eddie a suspicious look, "when are the Blacks going to make use of her?"
"When the time is right," Eddie shot back. "What's the rush? We got a year before we forfeit."
THERE IS NO FURTHER NEED FOR QUESTIONS THEN, The Lords cut in as Phaeron opened his muzzle to protest.
Abruptly, Elsewhere was vacant, save for the entities who called it home. After a short bit, the unmistakable sound of chuckling could be heard.
'IGNORAMUSNESS'. THAT WAS A GOOD ONE.
#
Abruptly, Eddie found himself in the small apartment he'd temporarily taken residence up in downtown Providence so he could be close to the Raquel situation as it developed. The setting sun was visible through his windows and his ashtray was cold, the cigar he'd stubbed out in it nothing more than a charred memory.
"Damn showoffs," he muttered.
"About time you got back," an amused voice told him
He spun around as a kitsune wearing a miniskirt and white blouse walked out of his kitchenette holding two beers, one in each hand. He growled at her, recognizing who it was. "What the hell you doin' here, Jessica?"
She tossed him one of the beers, which he caught. "Maintaining your cover; you've been gone for a few days."
He grunted and plopped unceremoniously onto the patched living room sofa. "Thanks, darlin'. Never know how long a trip to Elsewhere's gonna take." He put his feet up on the battered wood coffee-table, leaned back to take a big swig...and noticed her tails were raised slightly and the tips quivering. So much for relaxing. "Okay, spill it. What's goin' down?"
"You are so infuriatingly clever," Jessica told him. Her playful act vanished in a blossoming expression of concern. "The Whites are playing games."
Eddie patted the sofa cushion next to him and Jessica plunked down on it. "Now that's interestin'," he drawled. "Lords of Magics said everythin's kosher."
"It probably is," she sighed, taking a swig of her own beer. "Someone's spreading rumors about her and using Empathy magic to enhance the results. No one's opinion is being changed -- just validated if you get my drift."
"Clever bastards," Eddie approved. "If Raquel pulls up stakes and moves away that don't interfere with the Blacks use of her none although it would be a hell of an inconvenience."
Jessica sighed. "Yeah, I know. I'm countering his effects the best I can, but if I shield someone other than myself from the Empathy I'll blow my cover. I just wish I knew who it was."
"Lemme guess," he told her. "The rumors regard how she got her job. Kinda stupid rumor, thought; thought she was nuthin' more than a glorified secretary fer a low-level suit."
"She is" Jessica agreed. "However, It looks like the CEO has taken an interest in our favorite buff bicranial Bengal."
"When did the rumors start?"
"Hmmm...I'd say last week, about Thursday."
He fished in the sofa cushions for a spare cigar. Finding one, he bit the end off, conjured a flame on the end of his finger and lit up. "I assume she had a meetin' with the bigwig?"
Jessica nodded. "Monday of that same week, if I'm not mistaken. She wasn't at her desk for a few hours in the middle of the day."
Eddie tilted his head back and blew a few smoke rings, pondering for a bit. True, he'd planned on doing something to get Raquel out of mainstream fur society, but for the moment she was his and no White was going to screw with her until he was done with her. "Probably been more meetins' between the two, am I right?"
"You got it. She tends to come in early so it doesn't interfere with her regular hours.."
"Sounds like considerable pains are bein' taken ta keep this hush-hush; I bet Mr. CEO's got big plans fer Raquel." Eddie made a mental note to check up on that later. "I assume ya checked everyone who works on Raquel's floor or who may know what someone that high up is doin'?"
Jessica took a swig of her beer. "Yeah, but no one seemed like a likely suspect."
"Ya mean no one felt like one. Remember, dependin' on how good this Empathic spellcaster is, he could interfere wit' stuff like intuition."
"Son of a bitch." The kitsune sat straight up; all three tails puffed up, making for a truly impressive sight. "I'll have to bespell myself so I'm immune, and those counterspells aren't cheap."
"You'd know," Eddie admitted. Jessica's magical Gift was in protective glyphs. "I'll admit that ol' Phaeron seems ta be sneaker than I gave him credit for. Makes me wonder what else he's got stuffed up that sleeve of his."
#
As the familiar contours of his Manhattan townhouse swirled into view, Phaeron found himself smirking. He sent out a tendril of will and coaxed the candles around his large parlor into life. There were no windows in his room, since this was where one of the White's teleport Doors opened up and he didn't want to chance anyfur seeing something he couldn't explain away.
As the candlelight increased and played about the room's wood paneling, he noticed a large clump dozing on the deep shag carpeting of his parlor. It wore a familiar dark green robe with gold scrollwork on the hem. He sighed at it. "There was really no need for that, Viris," he chided.
The clump uncurled itself with a fluid motion and stretched. Eagles' wings extended, touching either side of the parlor as they stretched, and raptor eyes blinked quickly. Leonine muscles, visible even under the fur's cloak, flexed like mating footballs. The visible portion of the legs were also lion in appearance, but the golden eagle-head and birdlike talons bespoke of something else entirely. Having finished the stretch, the griffin bowed low. "Welcome back, my lord," Viris rumbled in a deep baritone. "It has been a little over three days since you left." He gazed at Phaeron. "You seem pleased. One assumes that Lord Edward has come out second-best in whatever confrontation you've had with him."
"Even better," the unicorn said. "He doesn't know how much of his plans I've guessed." He pulled the hood of his cloak up to go into his kitchen, as there were windows. "Can I get you something, my friend?"
"Only if it's still wriggling. Food in this so-called modern world leaves much to be desired."
Phaeron grabbed some fresh carrots with a bottled water and a Tupperware container with chopped organ meats . He went back into the parlor chuckling and gave the meat to Viris. "You must admit, live game is something of a required taste."
"I suppose," Viris answered dubiously. He peered at the container and sniffed.
Phaeron fought to keep his grin from growing as the griffin's eyes lit up, but couldn't hide the good-natured frown as Viris sank to the carpet to eat. "Would you like to sit somewhere more comfortable?" The unicorn gestured to his Italian leather couch as he himself sat in his favorite leather armchair. "What's been going on since I've been gone? I'm sure more disasters have sprung up -- with Raquel at the center of them all."
Viris took the proffered seat and growled. "I still say you should let me do something about her," he insisted. "I'll gladly pay whatever penalty the Lords of Magic decree and I promise it'll be quick." As if to emphasize the statement, one talon delicately dipped into his meal and flipped up a piece in the air; his beak snapped at is so quick it seemed to disappear.
"Remember who her lover is," Phaeron told him. "Officer Balto still has her power and that Death-touch weapon. You might not get that far."
"The prospect of dying adds spice to the act," Viris replied without hesitation.
Phaeron refrained from rolling his eyes. Griffins as a race were wholly committed to the White and their sense of loyalty knew few bounds, but were brave to the point of being suicidal. "I sort of need you," he chided, "now more than ever." He leaned forward in his chair. "The Dark Minstrel's been reborn."
Every hair on the griffin's body stood on end as he mantled. "By the White! Are you sure?"
"Oh yes," Phaeron agreed. "We discovered Xendaen is behind the choice of Raquel as the Guide. The simple thing to do for a necromancer of his caliber would be to call her spirit and ask her all the questions we needed answers for. That would have taken a personal artifact of hers, but we could have asked the Lords where the closest one was; instead, he suggested a useless question. Eddie's too intelligent to do something like that unless it serves his purposes."
"I'll wager my feathers she's been reincarnated as one of Raquel's companions," Viris snarled. Phaeron winced as the griffin's talons cut into the arm of the couch. "If Raquel is her creature, she'd want to be close at hand."
"Assuming she's woken up to her true memories," Phaeron corrected. He still hated the idea of doing something to the Dark Mistrel after everything she'd been through a thousand years ago, but he really didn't have a choice; her goals were nothing short of apocalyptic and the chances of her current incarnation holding out against such a powerful psyche emerging were zero. "I don't think we want to set our mind in stone about that."
"That's because you don't know what happened to our Journeyman necromancer."
He sat up straight. "Greg? He was helping to keep an eye on Raquel and her friends." Phaeron had also given the blue-point Siamese strict orders to watch Vicki's grave and make sure it was unmolested; the poor fur had gone through enough in life and the unicorn wanted her death to be restful.
"No...I found him here, turned to stone."
Phaeron would have cursed, except he saved that for special occasions. "Now I'll have to put someone else on the grave site." He peered at Viris. "Wait a minute; why didn't Patricia restore him?"
"She's disappeared."
The special occasion had indeed come; he cut loose with a series of vile epitaphs. "It can't be coincidence," the unicorn fumed.
"That was my thought too, but I didn't know how every thing connected. With this new bit of information; everything makes sense. Xendaen must be one of Raquel's friends."
"I don't see how," Phaeron mused. "It's definitely not Raquel. I had her checked every way there is to check someone for magic potential and she's unGifted." Phaeron refrained from mentioning that Raquel was also a new soul -- she'd never had any past lives. A lot of rumors circulated about such furs, and Phaeron really didn't need anyone risking the secret of magic more than Raquel's new appearance already did. "It's not Kayleigh either. Even if her Gift had been somehow latent, her dealings with the Grim Reaper would have caused it to the surface."
"What about Cyndi?" Viris growled. "Xendaen was also a red-quilled porcupine."
"That she was," Phaeron mused. He was certain Cyndi had been checked. He tried to remember what the result was ---
Leinster
999 AD
- - - and it had been decisive.
Twenty Whites, senior of power and skill, had been chosen for the force to capture or destroy the Dark Minstrel.
It hadn't even been close to enough..
Phaeron struggled helplessly, dangling in midair by ropes forged of music. Strewn all about the charred hilltop was the wreckage of what once had been a small church, as well as the smoldering remains of its inhabitants and the attackers. In the midst of all the devastation, with a serene expression, Xendaen knelt with her back to him as if the church's altar was still intact.
"One battle doesn't win the war," he snarled at her, knowing it for the empty statement it was.
She blessed herself and stood up slowly. Even from here, he could see the deep violet clouds play across her emerald eyes. "I don't play to win." She turned and walked up to him. "I just play to not lose."
"You like to speak in riddles," Phaeron taunted, or tried to. "Try riddling away this insane notion of yours."
"You're correct," she told him. "It was insane of me to believe Gifted would respect the right of Sanctuary." She glanced pointedly at the body of one of the Whites.
Phaeron refused to rise to the bait. "What did you expect? You destroyed a World Spire! Do you realize what you could have unleashed?"
Xendaen placed her hands on her hips, looking amused. "Considering the length Gifted go to keep their secrets, my unforgivable act is at best a venal sin. Without the Spires, the world's manna would rise to the level the Creator intended."
"Furkind isn't ready to handle magic," Phaeron insisted. "How many times must history repeat itself, Xendaen? Remember Atlantis? Babel? Sodom and Gomorra? Troy? Any of those disasters ring a bell? They should, since Bards like yourself take pride in their knowledge of old tales."
"But in each time the magic was doled out by greedy fools who sought to control it," she insisted. "My way, there can be no control. Everyfur who can cast magic will be able to pick it up on their own."
"Madness," he muttered.
Xendaen shrugged. "Few good ideas are appreciated in their own time." She turned as if to leave, then stopped. "Oh, by the way, you're down to only three Spires."
Phaeron gaped. "What?"
"I found the one near Briarswood," she told him. "Actually I wouldn't have known it was there if the brigade of griffins you had guarding it hadn't decided to raze Cullough."
"They didn't!"
"I'm afraid so." Her tone was mild but her eyes glittered. "Someone in command figured the destruction of the town I was born in would enrage me to stupidity. All it did was unleash a musical curse I'd sung up for just such an event. It triggered the griffin's Blood Rage; they did themselves in. After that, any child could have just walked into the keep."
Phaeron shook his head. Griffins considered mutiny the worst sin imaginable; if she could incite an entire brigade to self-destruction her powers were greater than he feared. At the moment, that was a secondary consideration. "I'm sorry," he told her truthfully. "I never would have given such an order."
She stroked his cheek "I know. That's why you're still alive. You're far too nice a fur to be Lord of White. You really should give it up, for the sake of your soul."
"One step after you," he insisted. "Please, Xendaen! It's not too late!"
The last scraps of ease faded from her countenance and her next words were cold and flat. "It was too late on the day the femfur who'd been my mother in every way save blood died with a griffin's beak in her throat. The Blacks aren't any better; they got my stepsister two days ago. What they did to her in order to get to me, I will never forget. But I will seek vengeance for it, of that you can be sure."
"Xendaen," Phaeron tried one more time.
She cut him off with a gesture. "The outcome's already decided. Here's a hint -- don't plan your victory celebration."
"You sound sure of that." Were the ropes weakening? They felt like it. He resisted the urge to squirm.
"Oh, I'm sure," she nodded. "All my moves are in place save two and once those are finished all your efforts to stop me will be too much, too soon."
He frowned. "Don't you mean 'too little, too late'?"
"It all depends," she said, "on how you look at things. And when."
When she began to sing and his consciousness fled, he never expected to wake again.
#
"My Lord?"
Phaeron shook his head free of memory. "Hm? Sorry, Viris. I was deep in thought for a moment there." He thought back to the first time he'd seen Cyndi...he found himself humming absently. Memories of Xendaen always seemed to put him in a musical frame of mind. "No Cyndi isn't Xendaen." He insisted as the last notes faded from his mind. "I checked that myself. I think you're right; she's most definitely in Providence." He took a sip of his bottled water. "Contact some of the other cities and have more Whites brought in. I know a few Blacks who wouldn't take kindly to the reappearance of the Dark Minstrel; I'll contact them and give you the list of names so there's no clashes of will. If you find out her current incarnation, however, do not engage, even if you are certain of victory. I will go in first; I've got a trick or two up my sleeve. And a prayer that perhaps she's willing to be more reasonable this time around, he added to himself.
Viris screwed up his beak in a grimace. "I don't care for that notion at all, my Lord. Must we work with the chaos-lovers?"
"That was our mistake last time," Phaeron chided. "I waited until it was almost too late to cooperate the Black and I don't plan on making the same mistake. Edward will try to interfere when he hears of this -- not 'if', 'when', and sooner than we'd like I'd wager -- so we need Greg up and about. There are certain necromancy spells that only another necromancer can counter, and he'll be our best chance
"No offense, but he's only a Journeyman. Edward's an Adept," Viris objected.
"I know," Phaeron told him glumly. "I could stand against Edward it things go really bad, but that runs an even greater risk of revealing myself than I usually take."
"We need to locate Patricia, and fast," Viris growled. "With your permission, I'll get an invisibility cloak from my armory and go scouting for her."
Phaeron nodded. "Good thinking. With your keen vision, finding her should be easy. I just wish I could tell you a good place to start."
"Everything seems to happen in Providence these days," Viris growled. "I'll start there." A blue-white rectangle the size of a doorway appeared in the middle of the room. Viris strode through the Door to his keep in Avalon where he kept the cloak
The unicorn shook his head; he hated to mislead his friend like that, but he had a very good idea where Patricia was at this point -- and if he was right, it was something that had to be done. He just hoped this wouldn't turn into another mess like the Chicago Fire of 1871.
#
"Please dearie! It's too late for that!"
"It you're sure," Raquel shrugged, taking a sip from her Coors Extra Catnip with her right mouth. She noted with both pairs of eyes that Cyndi and Kayleigh still wore guarded expressions, staring at the old fur now sitting in one of the parlor's guest chairs. "Relax," she purred at the both of them. She sat back down on her couch and put her left arm around Kayleigh. "Patricia's okay." Remembering that Patricia felt uncomfortable if she switched speaking mouths back and forth, she decided to stick with her left one.
"That remains to be seen," the husky said tightly. Cyndi hadn't said a word since Raquel had let the old cat in but was sitting up in her chair as if ready to jump. Or pounce.
The tigress could feel Kayleigh's back muscles; they like steel springs ready to uncoil. She tried to smooth them by caressing her lover's back. "Come on," she began, but Patricia cut her off with an admonishing finger.
"Your friends are only being sensible," Patricia chided. "They don't know me from Adam, and neither do you. So, why don't I give them a proper introduction?" She stood up and bowed. "I'm Patricia, and I'm a spellcaster of Transformation magics. My official rank is Adept which makes me one of the strongest Transformation spellcasters alive. Over two weeks ago -- land sakes, that's hardly any time at all! -- I granted your friend's wish for a second head, and both of you wonder how I let her do something so stupid." She smiled at them. "Well, I'm here tonight to tell you why, and any other bits of information you want to know. I'm also here to tell you how best to survive and maybe benefit from the new world you find yourself in." Her smile vanished. "If you don't trust me enough not to lie, let's not waste any of our time and I'll leave so I can contact those who might be sympathetic to your cause. I pray it doesn't come to that, because I doubt I'll find any. You three are in trouble up to your necks; none of you asked for it, but life isn't always fair." She looked at the husky. "Kayleigh, a lot of magicians have been looking for a chance to get that special gun away from you -- over your dead body if necessary." To the porcupine, "Cyndi, I know you've discovered your gifts with magic and you can't believe the amount of double-dealing that's going to spark off." Finally, she nodded at the tigress. "Raquel, half the magicians I know want to lock you away from fur society and the other half want to take you apart to see what makes you tick." The old cat regarded them all with a shrug. "So decide now and if you still wish send me packing... well, I promise I'll cry at your funerals. Those of you that are lucky enough to get them, that is."
Cyndi blinked. "That's blunt enough."
"Got no time to be anything else, dearie," Patricia returned.
"Oh I didn't say I minded!" Cyndi actually looked more at ease; she was even smiling at the old fur and to Raquel it looked genuine. "Well, not much." That with a giggle.
Patricia beamed back at the porcupine, but the look she gave Kayleigh was grave. "You should know that the task to restore Vicki's appearance was given to me, but I couldn't find a way around the death-curse."
Kayleigh's entire body went rigid. Raquel cursed mentally to herself, hoping she wouldn't have to restrain her lover. "I don't know if you should have told me that," the husky said in a quiet tone.
"Of course I should have," the old cat shot back. "And well before this, too. You deserved to know."
The two femfurs locked gazes for what seemed to Raquel to be a long time. Finally, she felt her lover's muscles relax. "Thank you." She turned to Raquel and gave her a peck on her right muzzle. "You're right, love; sorry to have doubted your fine instincts."
Cyndi nodded in agreement, and Raquel let go a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "You can make it up to me later," she purred at Kayleigh, returning the kiss while simultaneously sticking a tongue out at Cyndi.
The porcupine blew her a raspberry before turning to Patricia. "Let's start with the basics. How does one become a Gifted?"
Patricia froze in the act of sitting down for just a second; Raquel was sure she was the only one who'd caught that hesitation. "That's an interesting term for magicians."
"I made it up," Cyndi told her proudly.
"Well get used of it, because that's exactly what furs who can cast magic call themselves. The ability is born, not learned; spells just help a Gifted channel that ability."
"Like scientific formulas?" Cyndi frowned.
"Oh no, there are crucial differences between science and magic. With magic, one gets results quicker but those results always stop just beyond one's nose. Science takes longer, but its results are far-reaching."
"Okay, you lost me," Raquel told her. "Hell, everyone treats me differently since I grew another head."
"We live in an Age of Science," Patricia reminded her. "If this had been just a hundred years ago, it would be the talk of your village but somehow world would never spread. There are furs working around the clock to ensure stories of you new look doesn't spread -- and it's a losing battle." The old cat gave her a sly look. "By the by, dearie, which newspaper have you decided to give an interview to? I'm in a betting pool with other Whites."
"Only if I get a cut," she double-laughed.
"What's a White?" Kayleigh wanted to know.
"There are two main groups Gifted fall into," Patricia explained. "The Society of White and The Society of Black -- or, to be informal, Whites and Blacks. I'm White. Our philosophy can be summed up as follows: 'Order brings stability, stability encourages development, development means life'. Black philosophy is thus: 'Chaos means change, change means growth, growth means life'. In short, Whites follow Order and Blacks follow Chaos."
"That doesn't sound like good verses evil to me," Kayleigh worried.
"Trust a policefur to pick up on that," Patricia smiled. "Both Whites and Blacks support the development of fur society in whatever fashion it chooses to develop itself -- they just believe in different motivating factors."
"'Whatever fashion'?" Cyndi quoted. "What does that mean?"
"Throughout history, there have been several groups -- secret organizations, let's call them -- dedicated to making sure fur society doesn't destroy itself. The Whites and Blacks are just the oldest and most successful. They follow trends in sociological development and, so long as it doesn't look destructive to fur society as a whole they leave it alone. If not, they step in."
"So that's what happened to the Cold War," Cyndi murmured in awe.
"I'm not sure I like that," Kayleigh growled. "No offense, Patricia, but no one elected these Gifted; their authority's self-bestowed, and there's no one policing them except themselves."
"No offense taken." Patricia said. "I don't know if this makes you feel any better, but here are forces watching over us to make sure we tow the line. They're called the Lords of Magic; I'm afraid all I know about them is that, like the name says, they control magic itself."
"Colors!" Cyndi suddenly blurted out. She blinked and looked around at everyone's startled expression. "In art, White is the absence of all color and Black is the inclusion." She leaned forward in her chair, grinning at the old cat. "I bet there were more than two colors at one time, am I right?"
Once again, Raquel noticed Patricia freeze. "You're very quick, dearie."
"Thank you," Cyndi blushed.
Something's wrong, Raquel told herself. That connection Cyndi just made was too intuitive. Kayleigh was looking at Patricia, an expression of total concentration on her face; she doubted her lover noticed. The problem was, did she say something about it now or later when she could get Patricia alone? There were potential dangers either way.
Before she could make up her mind, Patricia's unease had passed and she was speaking again. "Magical talent falls into specialties -- Transformation, Necromancy, Protective Spells, and so forth. Before the birth of the Societies, each specialty associated itself with a single color. Wars between colors were fierce and savage; much of the legends involving gods and various mythologies comes from those conflicts. It was during the 20th Dynasty of Egypt -- the reign of Sethnakhte I believe -- that the pharaoh's personal sorcerer, Rama-Thoth, decided to put a stop to the fighting by taking over as many colors as possible."
Kayleigh shuddered. "Sounds messy."
"It was. Since Rama-Thoth was a Generalist, he tended to win his battles."
"Hold on," Cyndi said. "Does that mean he had more than one specialty?"
"One can train in other specialties," Patricia told her. "It just takes a lot of hard work and time. As an Avalon, Rama-Thoth certainly had the time -- he was over two thousand years old when he died."
"Avalon? As in 'King Arthur'?" Cyndi said eagerly. Raquel couldn't help but double-grin; the only literature Cyndi loved more than romance novels was old stories having to do with romance -- Lancelot and Gweneviere were two of her favorite characters.
"Land sakes, not hardly!" The old cat laughed. "You've all heard tales of mythical furs: unicorns, griffins, dragons and the like? Well, they're real -- Rama-Thoth was a phoenix -- and Avalon is the name of the world they live in. They're very long lived, by the by -- Griffins have the shortest life-span of the Avalons, and they can expect to live five hundred years or more. Because of the agreement between both Whites and Black to keep magic secret, the ones that come here must be heavily disguised. For some, like kitsune, this is easy -- kitsune are natural shapeshifters. Others need to rely on spells; unicorns have an especially difficult time of it. You see, every Avalon-based race of fur has 'rules' they must follow; it's in their nature, like having striped fur or whiskers. For unicorns, they must leave some sign of their presence, however small.
Cyndi opened her mouth up with another question and Kayleigh was leaning forward with one of her own; Raquel interrupted both of them, speaking in stereo. "Cyndi, Kayleigh...I want to find out as much information as you do, but if we keep this up we'll be here until next week, and I hear a large clock ticking. Why don't we just settle for what we need to know to survive for now and we'll fill in the rest later?"
Cyndi looked doubtful. "I suppose," she hedged.
Kayleigh nodded almost at once. "You're right."
"Two for my side," Raquel purred happily. That earned her a dig in the ribs from Kayleigh and an obscene gesture from Cyndi, but it was worth it. She turned to Patricia. "Okay, not to sound self-centered, but what does this all have to do with me?"
"You were picked as the Guide," Patricia told her. "The Contest of the Guide is how Black and White have avoided open warfare for over three thousand years. First one side would set a goal for the Guide and then the other. Whoever won their goal -- or won the most from their goal -- would win the right to next call for the Guide. Up until you came by, Guides were always Gifted. The Lords of Magic decreed the restriction themselves."
"Wait a minute," Cyndi insisted. "That makes no sense! If there are only two sides, and the Guide must be a Gifted, whatever side the Guide followed would have the advantage! It couldn't be a fair contest!"
"All I can say is that no one's ever had complaints about favoritism, dearie," Patricia told her gravely. Once again, Raquel noticed the old fur freeze for just a second. "There are two rules governing the use of the Guide. The first instructs us that the Guide cannot be held responsible for any act done in carrying out their duty. The second is that the Guide, for the risks they take, must be rewarded by any Gifted who they accompany -- and the Gifted is forbidden to tell the Guide, in any way shape or form, what to choose for their reward."
That can't be right, Raquel thought.
"But you asked me what I wanted, and suggested what you could do," the tigress insisted.
"Exactly. I told you what I could do, but I couldn't suggest any other options on how to do it unless you brought them up." Patricia looked upset. "There were plenty of ways to give you a healthy tail; all it would have taken was a trip to a Gifted with strong enough Healing -- and we Whites have such a fur. He can cure things like being born without limbs, so I don't think you would have been a challenge. But that wasn't what you wanted. You might find this hard to believe, but you like the idea of standing out."
"But..." she stammered
"She's got you there, love," Kayleigh grinned. "Remember last Friday when we went out to a movie? That male cheetah couldn't take his eyes off you and you waggled your butt at him!"
Cyndi raised her right hand. "I, Cyndi Siun, being of sound body and wacky mind do hereby give testimony that while in the presence of the accused, she has deliberately done things like eat and talk at the same time in order to freak furs out."
Raquel tried again. "But that's because I look sexy. I can't help but show it off."
"Then what was up with all the body building?" Cyndi pressed. "You did that to get yourself attention."
Raquel gave up. Something inside her knew they were right; she loved the startled looks she got, the double-takes, the happy feeling that comes from being truly unique. "You got me there," she laughed.
"Oh yeah, payback time!" Cyndi laughed.
Kayleigh sniggered. "You're sleeping on the floor tonight," Raquel announced to the husky. That earned her right face a slurping, something only canines could do really well; it involved the canine sticking his or her tongue out as far as it could go and licking the chosen target's face, going for maximum slime factor.
"Yeuuch!" Raquel protested.
"You make me sleep on the floor and that'll be your toes," Kayleigh grinned.
"Land sakes, my poor elderly ears," Patricia chuckled.
"Mercy! I surrender!" Raquel mocked-begged. She grinned at Patricia with her left head. "Okay, okay, I guess you're right. Still, it would have been nice to have my options explained to me."
"I agree," Patricia nodded. "I really didn't have a choice, believe me."
Raquel waved the apology aside. "How does that explain Cyndi?"
"Yeah," Cyndi said. "I mean, aren't I kinda old?"
Patricia froze again; Raquel decided she was definitely going to have to take the old cat aside. "Usually one discovers one's Gift at puberty," Patricia told her carefully. "Sometimes younger. Later than puberty....well, those are all special cases. I imagine it was suddenly being around enchantment all the time that caused it to come out."
"So what's my specialty?" Cyndi said eagerly.
"Well, there was a White at the graveyard, and he told me your Becoming was a powerful Necromantic ritual, so I'd say Necromancy. 'Becoming' is what Gifted call it when one comes into their power; it's always raw magic, but the spell it comes the closest to emulating marks what your specialty is."
"But that wasn't my first spell," Cyndi insisted. "My first was seeing through the illusion surrounding Vicki."
This time, the old cat's surprise wasn't subtle. "You did what?" Patricia gaped.
"Well that was still Necromancy, wasn't it?" Cyndi shrugged. "I mean, she was deathly ill."
"No it was not." The old cat was actually pale. "That's a potent Illusion talent you just described. Have you cast any other spells?"
"Let's see...in order, I saw Vicki's ghost, I teleported, and . I compelled someone to tell the truth...I think that about covers it. I also sang someone to sleep -- that was after I saw through the illusion -- but I'm not sure that counts. She was plenty exhausted." She beamed. "Guess this means I'm a Generalist after all!"
"You..." With obvious effort, Patricia got herself under control. Kayleigh was back to looking wary again, but Cyndi seemed oblivious. "Tell me," Patricia continued in an even tone. "When you cast spells before, were you similarly musical?"
Cyndi frowned. "I...I really don't know about the first one. On the compelling truth one and the teleport, yes. No on the ghost -- but it was the same furson I'd sung to."
"By the White," she breathed, her eyes bulging.
"What is it?" Raquel demanded. Kayleigh still looked relaxed but eyes had gone steely.
"I can't tell you." Patricia said. "I'm sorry, it is far, far too dangerous. There are Gifted who would burn this city to the ground if they even suspected..."
"You're babbling," Cyndi told her.
"Because I'm scared," the old cat admitted freely. "You should be as well. For now, only cast Necromantic spells. Only! Do NOT cast any other type until you hear from me again unless the situation is dire, and whatever you do, DON'T sing your spells aloud!"
"It's the music isn't it?" Cyndi urged. "That's what's got you scared." A small smirk played about her mouth. "I bet this means I'm gonna kick up the Whites and Blacks something fierce."
Patricia almost leapt out of her chair. "This is not the time to be clever, girl! Use your brains as more than something to fill your skull. Smarten up or I'll take you over my knee, quills and all!"
Cyndi stiffened for a moment in outrage, but Patricia glared right back. Kayleigh looked ready to pounce if somefur blinked wrong. Raquel flexed her shoulders and hoped she wouldn't have to step in. There was no call for that, Raquel said to herself.
Yeah. Cyndi should know better than to play one-upmanship games, came a random thought.
Raquel was stunned -- the random thought seemed to have missed the boat entirely. Before she could correct it, Cyndi's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "It's just...I lost my fiancé and someone who could have been a real good friend because the Gifted want to hide and I've been dying to take it out on one of them. I shouldn't have picked you."
"Be patient, little one," Patricia chided, but there was humor in her stern gaze this time. "Revenge is like money; if you plan it well and take your time building it, the payoff can be huge."
Cyndi giggled. "I'll have to remember that."
"See that you do." The black cat was all smiles again. "Now I have to collect some things for your training, Cyndi. Keep out of trouble until then."
"I promise," Cyndi said, crossing her heart.
"You're leaving?" Kayleigh asked. Raquel noted her lover hadn't dropped out of readiness.
"Oh, I'll be back, dearie," Patricia assured. "The quicker I leave the quicker I return with the things Cyndi will need. Anything else you want to know, we can go over when I do. Right now, speed is the key."
"Let me walk you to your car," Raquel insisted. It would give her at least a little time to grill the old fur.
"That would be fine," Patricia told her. "Streets at night aren't safe like they used to be."
Raquel double-smiled and walked the old fur out of the apartment. Keeping Patricia on her right side, she glanced over her shoulder with her left at Kayleigh, pointedly looked at Cyndi, then back at Patricia and returned the look to Kayleigh. The husky relaxed slightly and nodded. Cyndi, oblivious, waved good-bye at the old fur's back as the two walked out into the street.
Raquel didn't see a car nearby, but hadn't expected to. "All right, what's going on with Cyndi?"
Patricia shot an exasperated look at her. "Dearie, I told you..."
She cut the old fur off with a gesture. "I don't mean that." Recalling Mr. Gregan's lessons on 'negotiation', she spoke entirely in stereo, knowing full well Patricia found it unnerving. "I caught you freezing every time Cyndi came out with an too-insightful comment."
Patricia glanced quickly from one of Raquel's heads to the other, then sighed. "Do you believe in reincarnation?"
Raquel was a little taken aback by the shift in conversation. "I'm not sure. Why?"
"Because the matter's a little more serious for Gifted," Patricia told her. "By and large furs don't remember their past lives. Gifted, however, will almost always recall bits and pieces of them. I myself remember quite a bit about my last two."
"Do you mean Cyndi's remembering a past life when she was a Gifted?"
Patricia nodded. "Exactly. And it's too soon; usually these memories will only come out once she starts training. If she's remembering them now...she could lose herself."
"Oh." Then the implications hit Raquel like a speeding train. "Oh my god."
"You see the problem," Patricia said gravely. "It's very possible Cyndi will wake up one morning and not be Cyndi anymore, but who she was in a past life."
"What can I do?" Raquel pleaded.
"Steer her away from experimenting on her own for now," Patricia insisted. "Most of the checks inherent in magic -- the need for formulas to focus effect, for example -- don't apply to her. Be her friend, now more than ever. Give her constant reminders of who and what she is. That's the best you can do for now."
"I have a business-related party I have be at the Sacker gallery Art Museum tomorrow night for work," Raquel fretted. "I can talk to Kayleigh and have her help. And tonight is still young."
"Good thinking. Just don't let her know something's wrong, it can hasten the process!"
Raquel nodded emphatically and gave the old fur a hug. "I won't. Thank you, Patricia. I have a feeling you may have gotten in some trouble to come here; if it's too much to handle you know where to find me."
The old fur hugged her back and sniffled. "You're welcome dearie, but I should be fine. Now, off with you before that too-smart roommate of yours figures out why you're out here!"
Raquel almost turned right around and booked it back to the apartment, but realized that might also clue Cyndi in and proceeded back at a regular pace. She'd have to find time to fill Kayleigh in on the details of this conversation later. This, plus everything else...the Chinese had it right. Living in interesting times was a curse.
#
At a certain dark townhouse in Manhattan, a bluish-white doorway opened up in the parlor, disgorging a cautious black cat. Her eyes darted to and fro, looking for a certain petrified feline.
"It's Cyndi, isn't it?"
Abruptly the lights turned on. Patricia spun in the direction of the voice. "Land sakes, you trying to give me a heart attack?"
Phaeron, Lord of White, leaned casually against one wood-paneled wall of his parlor near the light switch. He was dressed in sweats; his black fur shone and his mane was brushed away from his forehead. "It's only fair," he told her. "You know how many headaches you've caused me these past two weeks?"
"It goes with the territory, dearie." she told him. Patricia had been dreading this conversation, even knowing it would come. She nodded at his leather couch. "May I sit down?"
"Feel free." His tone was neutral, not cold but not warm either.
Patricia winced inwardly -- he was in full Lord of White mode. This would make things tougher. "Thank you." She sat down on the couch, noting the puncture marks in the leather. "Viris?"
The unicorn nodded and also sat down in his leather armchair. "What's her specialty? No more games, no more mincing words. I don't have time for it."
Phaeron was unusually agitated for some reason, so she answered quickly. "Well, she's a..."
"...Bard," Phaeron finished abruptly.
The shock of hearing those words loud caused her to abandon her composure and she sputtered. "How did you know?"
"Because the Dark Minstrel's been reborn!" Phaeron bellowed. Patricia gasped in shock, but he continued as if not hearing her. "Of all the Gifted, those with the specialty of Reality have been trouble from the first; being able to craft spells that change the nature of the universe tends to brew sizable egos. No one knows why they must sing to cast their spells or how it works, we're all just glad they're so rare. Now, not only are we faced with the rebirth of the most powerful one of their ilk, but we have another we must tread lightly around because she's the Guide's best friend!" Phaeron laughed. It wasn't a happy sound. "Cyndi and Raquel are the perfect distraction! If I wasn't so furious I'd admire the sheer elegance of her plan!"
Patricia didn't like the way the whites of his eyes were showing. Not that she blamed him. The news of the Dark Minstrel's imminent resurrection made her knees want to go watery -- especially since she might know who Xendane's incarnation was -- but this was no time to panic. "Phaeron, dear, maybe you should get some rest."
He showed no sign of hearing her. "I'll bet she's powerful too." He seemed to once again take notice of her. "Have you seen what she can do?"
Patricia realized the only way she could help Cyndi now was the best way to lie: tell just enough of the truth and then shut up. "I know she cast Spirit Oracle," the old cat admitted. "That's a Master-Level spell."
"Powerful indeed," Phaeron murmured. He continued to bore holes in her with his stare. "I want her trained."
Patricia gaped; of all the things she had expected him to say, that was the absolute last on her list.. "What?"
"We'll need someone who can stand up to Xendaen when the time comes and as of right now Cyndi's drafted."
"She may need convincing," Patricia hedged.
"I'll leave that up to you." His gaze softened. "Just don't tell anyone else, at least for now."
"Wisdom of the ages, dearie." Patricia knew which question she had to ask next. It was dangerous in the extreme, but necessary too. He had to have checked; Phaeron was too bright not to think of it. "How do you know Cyndi isn't Xendaen?"
Phaeron froze. There was no other word for it; one minute he was an animated fur, the next still as stone. Finally, he said in a monotone, "Cyndi isn't Xendaen. I checked that myself."
"I see," she told him. She did, too -- more than she wanted. "Why don't you get some sleep? I'll turn Greg back to normal and explain things to him."
Phaeron nodded. "I thought you were the one behind that. I transported him to your place." He executed a mighty yawn. "Gods, it's been a long day; a warm bed sounds marvelous." He gave her a plaintive look. "The next time you plan on going missing unexpectedly please leave me a note, all right?"
She smiled at him. "I'll try, dearie."
He smiled back, tension draining from his face as he shut of the parlor light and clumped off, presumably to bed. Patricia listened to him go and then sat in the parlor alone for a moment.
She was almost sure she knew what was going on; there just didn't seem a way to counter it. At least I know now why, of all the times they'd clashed, Xendaen never killed Phaeron, Patricia thought wryly. Why kill an enemy when you can render him impotent? Especially if he's in charge of a group of enemies.
He wouldn't recognize Xendaen if he was forced to meet her in the reincarnated flesh, she bet.
Patricia didn't approve of what had been done to Xendaen early in her life. On the other hand, other furs had been dealt a bad hand and hadn't tried to reshape the world according to a warped viewpoint. Could she condemn Cyndi for what she did as the Dark Minstrel a thousand years ago? Especially since Patricia didn't know how much of Xendaen's personality the porcupine had. Besides, she might be wrong.
Unfortunately, there was no way to check without endangering Cyndi's life.
All in all, sleep sounded like the best idea she'd have for a while. It was certainly the most clear cut. As she activated the White's Door network, she hoped that Greg was in an understanding mood.