“You sound troubled.”
“The Changer is coming here.”
“The Changer? What does he want?”
“I don’t know. He says he wants to call in his dues.”
Eddie rubs his hand along his bristled jawline. “That’s reasonable. Every year he brings his contribution to the treasury—sometimes more than is called for. We owe him service for that if for nothing more.”
“I agree,” Arthur says, “and there has always been his strong support of our rulership. Can you free yourself to attend the meeting? I’ve sent Vera to collect him.”
Snapping off his computer, Eddie nods. “I would not miss it for the world. The Changer come for our aid. Old Proteus, sea-born, perhaps the oldest of us all.”
“There is no proof of that,” Arthur replies, slightly miffed. He has always enjoyed his seniority.
“No proof,” Eddie says mildly. “True, but no lack of proof, either. He slips in and out of myths and cultures, refusing to be pinned down to any one origin just as he refuses to be pinned to any one shape.”
“Or name,” Arthur agrees. “The Changer. Most of us have names we use, a handful we return to as we return to certain callings. The Changer gives us no name to hold on to and remains an enigma.”
Eddie stretches. “I could use a sandwich before confronting the ancient. How long do we have?”
“Easily half an hour,” Arthur says, glancing at his watch. “Vera had to drive out nearly to Tijeras Pass to get him.”
“Why didn’t he just fly?”
“He said something about having his daughter with him.”
“Daughter?” Eddie’s bushy brows rise to his hairline. “How often has he claimed get?”
Arthur frowns thoughtfully. “That is a fascinating question, Eddie. I’d need to consult my records, but I could swear that this is the first time. She must be very special, this Daughter of the Changer. Could she share our gift?”
Eddie spreads his hands in a universal gesture of ignorance. “I don’t know. Most of our children do not.”
“Those of us who have children,” Arthur says sadly.
Like so many of his kind, he is sterile. Even his celebrated daughters by lovely Nefertiti had not been his own. She had not been precisely unfaithful; rather she had been more than faithful, trying to give him heirs to carry on his dream. It had not made a difference in the end, and young Tutankhamen had been a weak reed who had forsaken the Aten.
He shakes himself, aware of Eddie’s dark eyes gazing at him with kindness. Eddie has been burdened with a different sorrow. He has engendered children and it has been his lot to watch each die, of age, of illness, of accident.
Long ago, each had given up asking the question of whether their immortality was worth the price. Death is not a stranger to the athanor, only quiet, easy Death. When an athanor dies, it is in pain and suffering, body struggling to maintain a haven for life. Still, despite the phenomenal healing powers that are their heritage, athanor can die, they can suicide. That neither Eddie nor Arthur has pursued that option is proof enough that life still holds fascination.
“Let’s get that sandwich,” Eddie says, taking his arm.
“I’ll be a moment,” Arthur answers. “I want to check the records and learn what I can about the Changer’s children.”
His research confirms their earlier guesses. The Changer’s biographical file lists no recorded children. Offspring from his numerous matings with various birds and beasts (of late mostly ravens and coyotes) must exist, but the Changer has never brought any to the Lustrum Review, never asked that any be recorded and recognized. This daughter, then, is a first.
Interesting.
He tells Eddie as they eat the sandwiches and potato chips down in the warm, tiled kitchen.
“I’d better make a few extra sandwiches,” the king concludes. “They should be here any moment.”
As if in response, they
“The Changer is coming here.”
“The Changer? What does he want?”
“I don’t know. He says he wants to call in his dues.”
Eddie rubs his hand along his bristled jawline. “That’s reasonable. Every year he brings his contribution to the treasury—sometimes more than is called for. We owe him service for that if for nothing more.”
“I agree,” Arthur says, “and there has always been his strong support of our rulership. Can you free yourself to attend the meeting? I’ve sent Vera to collect him.”
Snapping off his computer, Eddie nods. “I would not miss it for the world. The Changer come for our aid. Old Proteus, sea-born, perhaps the oldest of us all.”
“There is no proof of that,” Arthur replies, slightly miffed. He has always enjoyed his seniority.
“No proof,” Eddie says mildly. “True, but no lack of proof, either. He slips in and out of myths and cultures, refusing to be pinned down to any one origin just as he refuses to be pinned to any one shape.”
“Or name,” Arthur agrees. “The Changer. Most of us have names we use, a handful we return to as we return to certain callings. The Changer gives us no name to hold on to and remains an enigma.”
Eddie stretches. “I could use a sandwich before confronting the ancient. How long do we have?”
“Easily half an hour,” Arthur says, glancing at his watch. “Vera had to drive out nearly to Tijeras Pass to get him.”
“Why didn’t he just fly?”
“He said something about having his daughter with him.”
“Daughter?” Eddie’s bushy brows rise to his hairline. “How often has he claimed get?”
Arthur frowns thoughtfully. “That is a fascinating question, Eddie. I’d need to consult my records, but I could swear that this is the first time. She must be very special, this Daughter of the Changer. Could she share our gift?”
Eddie spreads his hands in a universal gesture of ignorance. “I don’t know. Most of our children do not.”
“Those of us who have children,” Arthur says sadly.
Like so many of his kind, he is sterile. Even his celebrated daughters by lovely Nefertiti had not been his own. She had not been precisely unfaithful; rather she had been more than faithful, trying to give him heirs to carry on his dream. It had not made a difference in the end, and young Tutankhamen had been a weak reed who had forsaken the Aten.
He shakes himself, aware of Eddie’s dark eyes gazing at him with kindness. Eddie has been burdened with a different sorrow. He has engendered children and it has been his lot to watch each die, of age, of illness, of accident.
Long ago, each had given up asking the question of whether their immortality was worth the price. Death is not a stranger to the athanor, only quiet, easy Death. When an athanor dies, it is in pain and suffering, body struggling to maintain a haven for life. Still, despite the phenomenal healing powers that are their heritage, athanor can die, they can suicide. That neither Eddie nor Arthur has pursued that option is proof enough that life still holds fascination.
“Let’s get that sandwich,” Eddie says, taking his arm.
“I’ll be a moment,” Arthur answers. “I want to check the records and learn what I can about the Changer’s children.”
His research confirms their earlier guesses. The Changer’s biographical file lists no recorded children. Offspring from his numerous matings with various birds and beasts (of late mostly ravens and coyotes) must exist, but the Changer has never brought any to the Lustrum Review, never asked that any be recorded and recognized. This daughter, then, is a first.
Interesting.
He tells Eddie as they eat the sandwiches and potato chips down in the warm, tiled kitchen.
“I’d better make a few extra sandwiches,” the king concludes. “They should be here any moment.”
As if in response, they
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