Alex spread out the blanket on the floor with meticulous care, smoothing out the wrinkles and making sure everything was out of the way, the furniture and effects shoved back against the walls. He grabbed matches from the kitchen and lit a single votive candle on the coffee table, then turned off the overhead lights, bathing the room in flickering yellow-orange shadows stretched out from the corner of the room. In the near-darkness, he shed his clothing, piece by piece into a pile in the hallway, until all that remained was the heavy, beaded necklace around his neck, the hooked claw talisman occasionally brushing against the greying hair of his chest. Eyes closed, working by feel, he reached over and hit play on his CD player, then relaxed back into position, head bowed, counting his breaths.
“It is early evening. The crisp bite of wind fills your nostrils, ruffling your fur. You can smell water, fresh and fast, not too distant. Sunlight filters down through the treetops, casting long shadows on the underbrush. The evening is calm, the sounds of nature surrounding you…”
He had long since learned to tune out the words themselves, the sound of his own prerecorded voice coming back to him. What mattered now was the ritual, helping him ease into the proper mindset. Slowly, one by one, Alex tuned into the sensations around him, the waxy scent of smoke in his nose, the dim whisper of the ceiling fan blowing cool air over his body. As he brought them to the forefront of his mind, he dismissed them, letting them fade into unimportance as he resumed focusing on his own breath.
Swimming in the emptiness of his mind, the images carried in the droning of his own voice began to insinuate themselves. In the beginning, he would get little more than snatches of imagery, fleeting visions, sensations. All would fade as soon as he opened his eyes, and he spent every moment he could drag away from his life in meditation. The more he practiced, the easier the images came and the longer they stayed with him, retaining their dream-like state for minutes and later hours after. Now, if he slipped into what he called “the other life” more than once or twice on a weekend, he’d be too distracted for work on Monday, but if he didn’t do it at all, he’d be too stressed.
Stretching, he rose from his kneeling spot on the forest floor, dusting away the pine needles from the fur of his knees and calves, straightening his legs and feeling the back of his calves complain. The wind caught his fur, brown with greying tips and sent waves across his back. He lifted his black nose to the wind and drank in the air. The river was a few miles behind him, and fish sounded like an excellent dinner. He could smell deer in the woods, and they were probably closer, but venison didn’t make his tongue loll the way fresh fish could, and so the decision was easy.
Dropping to all fours, he spun and began a measured pace, not quite a jog, towards the water, all the while keeping ears and nose open, bringing the forest to him. The scent of rabbit, pungent and sweet, cut across his senses and for a brief moment, his world spun dangerously as his forebrain reared its ugly head, wondering where it had entered his narrative, and how he knew what it was. The other life reasserted itself quickly enough, though, with a growl from his stomach, and he resumed his fast walk to the river.
The crystal waters rippled over the riverbed, and Alex drank in the clear, blue scent as he approached. Leaning forward, he saw the shaggy, brown-furred outline of his head and muzzle, his short rounded ears. He reared, his bear’s body rising onto its hinds, head tilted painfully back against his neck, and then the world bent, squirming around him, as his head pivoted on its access. His claws shrunk, splayed as five short stubby digits gave way to padded, furred paw-like hands. The blunt stub of his tail fidgeted as he stretched, trying to relieve the pleasant ache that always accompanied the physical change from four legs to two. Then, finally, he knelt by the bank, fingers laced in the wet soil, his head bowed in prayer.
Thank you, Mother, for this gift, and for these visions. I am Your cub, and I am grateful for this world that You share with me, for the gifts You have bestowed. There was little more to be said, but he remained there, bent double, relaxing in the sensations of finally feeling like himself.
The smell of fish came to him through and above the water, and moments later his ears caught soft splashes. Eyes still closed, he leaned forward, letting his ursine senses guide him as he waited, listening, breathing deeply through his nostrils, and then snapped out a paw, laughing inside with cub-like delight at the solid smack of impact and then the gentle flop of the fish on the bank.
Opening his eyes, reached out with both paws and lifted the meal to his muzzle, biting into the cold flesh of the fish, sharp teeth cutting through scale and bone. The sweet white meat was ambrosia on his tongue and he swallowed hungrily, each bite only fueling his appetite. Soon, nothing was left but the taste in his muzzle and the stain of oil on his paws and fur.
He leaned forward to swat more from the river, when his nose caught the same scent before, this time more masked from the river but no less present for all that. A crunch came from behind him, and his ears tracked the sound downstream about twenty yards, the same direction as the scent. Rising, he turned and prepared to dash in the direction of the foreign scent, to find whatever invader was disturbing his private vision. Before he got three steps, though, he froze, mind working overtime.
She was predominantly grey-furred, with swatches of bluer grey and tan mixed at odd intervals. Her ears, tipped in black, rose from her head, twisting constantly, scanning for sounds. The whiskers on her muzzle arched from time to time. She knelt on the riverbank, sitting over her heels, balanced on broad toes and hands. As he watched, she leaned forward and bit into a thick knot of grass, wet with water from the cool river. A bit of calculation buzzed in his brain, and he guessed that she would top six feet with her ears, but that without them she might be five-eight at best. At the base of her spine twitched a short ball of fluff, grey on top, tan beneath.
Holy shit, Alex’s mind coughed up.
She chewed slowly, focused on her own meal, and if she had any indication of his presence, she didn’t show it. He stood, numb, as he watched her tug up shoots and blades of grass, chewing them slowly, swallowing them with obvious as much relish as he’d had with his fish. When the small knot with which she’d started was gone, she shifted, less heard than simply realized, starting on the next patch, her ears never stopping their movement.
She has to know I’m here, the bear-man thought. She had to have heard me, with ears like those. He tried to move and found to his semi-surprise that he could. He stepped forward, his hind-paw hitting the ground with a jarring thud.
At that, she jerked up, a few errant blades of grass trailing from her muzzle, scattering on the wind as she dashed back a good five feet in the time he realized she had moved. She stood, panting, weight shifting uneasily from one leg to the other, obviously ready to run again. “Who are you?”
She spoke English.
Alex’s mind spun crazily, stammering. The world rippled, threatening to tear at the delicate seams of his droning, audible now in his ears. His grip on the other life was slipping, tearing out of his paws, and he knelt, fingers pressed to the thick, damp earth, struggling to not to lose control. She stepped forward, hesitatingly, and then she was at his side, paws against his shoulders. “Are you alright?”
The bear panted, fingers clutching at the rich dark earth for purchase, feeling dizzily as if, were he to let go, he might fly off into the sky. This isn’t happening. None of this is happening. I’m kneeling, naked, human, in the middle of my living room, listening to my own voice chanting at me on my CD player. The scent of her fur clung to his nostrils, the aftertaste of the fish in his muzzle still sweet. He lifted a pawful of dirt, letting the soil run through his fingers. It felt real. It smelled real.
“I’ll find Watcher. He’ll know how to help.” With that the hare rose, turning as if to run.
“No!” His voice was deep, rich, so unlike the droning on the CD that pulsed in his ears. She nearly bolted at his outburst, but hesitated. He reached out, grabbing at her leg. “No, I’ll be fine, I just—”
Two jangling, purely electronic beeps tore through his senses, and Alex jerked open his eyes, blinking rapidly in the darkness. The candle had burned itself out, and a haze of smoke filled the apartment. Some voice chanted meaningless words at him, and it took him a moment to remember that it was his own, on the CD player.
The harsh tones repeated themselves, and Alex fought to identify the source, fumbling to his feet and stumbling to the wall, snapping on the harsh, artificial light. Mobile, his mind suggested, and he grabbed up his discarded pants, snatching at his belt. A little red light flashed impatiently at him, and he snapped open the cell phone, staring at the glyphs on the tiny screen. It took several seconds for his mind to register the meaning of the display, resolving out of chaos like a stereogram. Ten numbers. Work.
Alex dropped the wad of fabric, lip curled back in disgust. He lifted his palms to his nose, inhaling deeply. The echoes of waterlogged dirt, of her fur, drifted to him in a pale remembrance of his vision. He collapsed heavily onto the rumpled blanket, his prerecorded voice rambling distortedly in his ears, and stared numbly at his pink, padless, human hands.
This was very….touching. Poignant. Only partly because I recognize the players, just a bit.
I’m sure Alex will remember to turn his cel phone off before ritual, next time.