Changer (Athanor) (33 page)

A faint astral scream was the Head’s only warning before his solitude became absolute.  Later, he learned that he had been alone for hundreds of years.  Merlin had the painful comfort of Nimue’s teasing visits, his own occasional piercing through to the outer world.  The Head had nothing but cold, darkness, wet.

During that time he did not grow to hate Merlin.  No.  He pitied him.  Hate came later when, having won his own freedom, Merlin did not set his tool free as well.  Long imprisonment had damaged Merlin’s pride, made him distrustful of any relationship where he was the weaker, but it had not taught him empathy.

Then did Mimir’s Head begin to hate.  He began to realize that to Merlin he was nothing more than a useful Thing.

The Head took his vengeance in small ways; he gave advice that, while not wrong, withheld some crucial bit of information.  Meanwhile, he found ways to cause Merlin to set out small markers that led to the Head.

Had he possessed a heart, the Head would have hoped that Nimue would track him down.  Still, the fiery trickster Loki was hardly less welcome.  Now the Head had a companion other than his master.  He welcomed every visit and when, after subtle prompting on his part, Loki brought Nimue into their circle, the Head’s ambition grew.

The price the Head demanded for his participation was his freedom—and not merely from his cistern.  He craved the freedom of a body of his own.  The others agreed, research was begun, and ever so slowly the pieces were put into place.

Now, he could sense the tumblers in the lock that held him.  After centuries of darkness, he would see the light; after centuries of cold, he would feel warmth.  After centuries of patient hatred, he would have his revenge.

Far from their palace where Lovern labors and the Changer waits, beneath the icy waters of the Arctic Ocean, Duppy Jonah and Mother Carey swim.  They are humpback whales here, massive bodies well suited for this cold, cold water, tiny eyes seeing far more than a human might imagine.

Swimming around icebergs, beneath the fragmented ice sheet that covered the waters below, they revel in the crystalline beauty of this isolated part of the world.

“But even here,” Duppy Jonah says, “even here we can see the marks of human carelessness.”

What has drawn his wrath is frozen garbage, carried here by currents from who knows what distance.  The organic parts have rotted or been eaten.  Cans, bottles, plastic bags, metal drums slowly leaking poison, the faint taste of oil in the water all speak of humankind’s continuing naive belief that the Earth’s ability to absorb waste is infinite.

“They are not evil,” the Sea King says, “not all of them, but I prefer the days when the ships were of wood and the trash that remained was somehow beautiful.”

“I will do what I can to make Arthur understand that our continued isolation from humanity cannot persist,” Mother Carey replies.  “I will also meet with the South American contingent.  From what I have gleaned, they are actively furious about what the ‘developing’ nations on that continent are doing.”

“We let North America be taken without protest,” Duppy Jonah agrees.  “Now there are plains where once there were forests and the streams are saturated with fertilizers that fill the still waters with algae.  True, some communities seek to mend what was done, but a patched sail is not the same as a whole one.”

Mother Carey rolls with ponderous grace.  “I shall have them call me Amphitrite above.  Mother Carey is too soft a name.”

“Too soft for any but sailors,” Duppy Jonah agrees.  “They know the power of the Sea Witch.”

“And of the siren’s song,” she agrees, “but the land-born have become forgetful.  Look at the arrogance with which Lovern came here.  You soon set him to rights.”

“I did and I am satisfied with what I have done.  You also must use the threat of rising seas, hurricanes, and storms.  Let Arthur recall that we have kept our peace by choice, not from inability.”

“I will.”

“And I’ll miss you terribly.”

“Shall I stay then?”

“No.  Go.  Just come back to me.”

“I will.”

By June 18, Lovern has prepared the spell that will permit Mother Carey, now Amphitrite C. Regina, to shapeshift from a mermaid into a human being.  They gather on an isolated island in the Florida Keys to test the potion.

“It’s in this vial,” Lovern explains, holding up a container holding about a half pint of milky liquid.  “Drink it off, but sit down first or your tail shifting may unbalance you.

“Your human shape will last three weeks or until you shift it voluntarily.  At that time, you will revert to mermaid form, so I suggest that you be near an ocean—and there aren’t any bordering New Mexico.”

“Three weeks should be enough,” Amphitrite says.

She and Duppy Jonah rest in the sandy shallows of the island’s deepest cove.  The Changer, now in human form, stands waist-deep, watching silently.

Amphitrite turns to her husband, who takes her in his arms and presses her to his chest.  They speak, but whatever they say is covered by the polite susurrus of the waves against the sand.  Then, still partially in the water, she seats herself decorously and drinks off the potion in a single, long draught.

“Rich tasting, like whale’s milk,” she says brightly.  “When will the effects begin?”

“They have already,” Lovern says, holding out a hand mirror scavenged from a wreck and polished bright.  “Look.”

The others do not need a mirror to see what is happening.  Her skin has lost its pearly tint, pale blues and pinks replaced by a golden brown tan.  As if autumn is come to a woodland, her green hair becomes golden blond, highlighted with touches of red.  Finned tail splits into legs, long and shapely, like those of a professional model.

Indeed, what she resembles most of all is a fashion doll come to life, but her sea-green eyes glow with an intelligence beyond any doll’s—or most humans’.  Standing with a steadiness that is surprising, given that she has never stood before, she views her nude body with unself-conscious pleasure.

“What do you think, dear?”

“I prefer you as an orca, a seal, a mermaid,” the Sea King grumbles proudly, “but you shape a fine human.”

“I think so, too,” she agrees.  “A bit top-heavy, but that is all to the point.”

No one dares chuckle, lest her pun is unintentional, but Lovern stands taller with pride at what he has wrought.  “You recall how to change yourself back?” he asks.

“I do,” she says, “and I shall not forget the words, nor am I likely to speak Phoenician accidentally.”

“Good.”  Lovern now includes Duppy Jonah in his steady gaze.  “Now that I have fulfilled the first part of our bargain, will you permit me to retrieve my property?”

Duppy Jonah does not turn from his wife.  “We will.  Go as you will and take the Changer with you.  I shall escort Amphitrite to Arthur’s Florida home.”

The Sea King moves into slightly deeper water and shifts into a striped dolphin, large enough to bear a human burden.  Amphitrite, still graceful in the water despite her human form, swims to join them.

“Ta-ta, fellows!”

Watching the pair depart, the woman astride the dolphin, Lovern grumbles sourly, “What if anyone sees them!”  Then he shrugs.  “That is not for us to worry about.  I
did
suggest that we have her test the potion at Arthur’s beach and save this trouble.”

The Changer wades into deeper water.  “It is no trouble.  While we fetch your tool, they will make love before parting.”

Lovern interrupts a mystic hand gesture.  “What?  How?”

The Changer grins, shaping the bottle-nosed dolphin.  His only reply is a suggestive squeal.  Lovern completes the aborted gesture and soon his orange glow reappears around him.

Now that Duppy Jonah’s permission has been granted, the wizard uses a variety of magical shortcuts to take them to where he has secreted Mimir’s Head.  If he hopes that in this way he will keep the Changer from knowing where they go, nothing in the shapeshifter’s bearing tells him if he is wasting his efforts—or if the ancient cares at all.

At last they come to a trench so far beneath the surface of the ocean that light has never shone there.  The darkness eats Lovern’s wizard light so that only his hand on the staff and his face, as if disembodied, can be seen.

Long before they reached these depths, the Changer shifts into a giant squid, a vast thing even a sperm whale might fear.  Silently, he jets along at the wizard’s side.

At the edge of a nub of congealed lava, Lovern halts.  With the tip of his staff, he taps the smooth surface.  He mutters words as well, but the Changer pays no heed.  His role is to make certain that one or both of them return from this place intact.  Otherwise Amphitrite will be without escort—and he has much respect for his brother and much belief that if anything happens to his beloved, his vengeance will be terrible.

The rock opens and from it Lovern draws a hexagonal case about the size of a large hatbox.  It gathers the available light into the gold and precious stones that encrust its surface.

Hefting the box, Lovern eyes the boneless monstrosity pulsing restlessly in the cold waters near him.

“This is it.  We can go back now.”

The squid instantly begins retracing their route.  Lovern follows, walking carefully lest he upset the contents of his box.  As they make their slow way to shallower waters and finally to sunny places, it seems to Lovern that the box shakes in his hand, a rough, uneven vibration.

Were he given to fancy, he would believe that the Head within is laughing uproariously.

Tommy Thunderburst is happily at work on the new piece for guitar and drums that he has titled “She Blew My Head Off and Ate My Mind” when Lil Prima saunters into his studio.  As always, she is elegantly dressed, but something about the way her golden hair is coiled atop her head and the style of her shoes signals that she’s been in a meeting.

“Hi, Lil,” he says cheerfully.  “Want to hear the new one?  It’s about you.”

“Later, darling, later,” she purrs, running her hands through his hair.  Her fingers stop to toy with the silver chain holding the amethyst thunderbird, making his heart race lest she question him about it, but they pass it by.  “I’ve just come to tell you that the videos for
Angel of Destruction, Demon of the Night
look really good.”

“That’s the set we did with ‘Hell Cat’ and ‘Blue Suede Shoes’?”

“That’s right.”  She strokes his shoulders approvingly.  “The buzz on ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ is already starting.”

She’s particularly pleased with this last coup.  The Presley estate has been very particular about permitting covers of the King’s works, but Tommy Thunderburst has a special, unique—one might even say brotherly—relationship with Elvis Presley, one that nullifies such obstacles with the wave of a hand.

“Yes.  I’ve coyly indicated that because of your extraordinary talent and charisma, the estate was willing to waive its usual restrictions.  The story has already been picked up by the major fan publications.  You’re going to sell a lot of albums just because of curiosity.”

Tommy diddles a few jarring chords, mentally files them away for inclusion in “She Blew My Head Off and Ate My Mind,” and asks, “Won’t radio play, like, hurt the curiosity bug?”