Child of Man: Chapter 3, Part 2

Watcher looked down at the floor, regarding the man crumpled before him, still wet from a shower, a tangle of keys not far from one of his outstretched hands. His hair was mostly brown, a few grey streaks trailing to the middle of his back. Around his neck ran a length of knotted leather. The wolf had seen, before the man had collapsed, the bear claw that dangled from the homemade necklace. Watcher nudged the fallen form with a single toe-claw.

Alex jerked backwards at the sharp poke, scrambling up to his hands and the balls of his feet, grabbing for his impromptu brass knuckles. He backed into the wall with a thump, still crouching, keys again clutched in-between white knuckles. “Wh—what are…?” His eyes went wide, his arms shaking unsteadily.

Standing in front of him was the werewolf he had seen in the moments before fainting. Its fur was tan, almost brown, brushed to a brassy luster and reflecting the yellowish glare of the incandescent lights in the overhead fixtures. From shoulder to waist ran a bandolier of sorts, a myriad of leather pouches and talismans hanging from it at intervals. His gaze ran upwards over the fur-covered form, staring upwards into obviously intelligent amber eyes that studied him curiously, half-lidded in the indistinct light.

He cleared his voice and said as evenly as he could, “Mr. Demont, please. We have little time to talk and much to cover. I am not here as an enemy, I hope….” He held his tail low and mostly still behind him, trying to hold himself as non-threateningly as possible. He hoped his words, if not his actions, would help put the man at ease.

Mr. Demont did not seem comforted. The man’s face, flushed from the heat of his shower, went white at the sight of the inch-long talons at the end of the wolf’s digits, and the words that came from its muzzle did little to relieve the obvious fear. His jaw moved in rapid flapping jerks for several seconds, but no sound came forth, as if it were necessary to prime his larynx with some warm-up exercises. Finally, he stammered, “You…. you’re—”

“Yes, Mr. Demont, I am a Child of Wolf. A werewolf, if you wish, though it is a bit… rude… to say it that way.” Watcher fought not to sound too much like an alpha, breathing slowly to help keep his posture relaxed. “I was born between worlds, neither fully of man nor of nature, but able to commune with either.”

“What do you want with me?” Alex gripped the keys more tightly in his fist, shifting up onto the balls of his feet, eyes up at the wolf.

Watcher’s fingers flexed, then relaxed again. “I serve here as intermediary. Another of our kind has concerns; I wish to allay them.”

“Another?”

Watcher smiled. “The hare. I believe you remember her. Do you remember your dreams?”

The question seemed like a non sequitur, until Alex’s eyes went wide. “No. No, that—that’s not possible. That was… she… was real?” The man’s jaw fell slack, eyes agape.

“As real as I am,” Watcher responded, wondering if the man realized the irony of such a claim. “I suspect she mistakenly wandered into your mindscape in the spiritlands. Your presence there startled her. She investigated as best as any prey species could, then asked me to learn more.”

“The spiritlands?” With each question, Alex felt a bit less in control of the situation; each response seemed only to serve as an invitation to further confusion.

The wolf paused a moment, then lifted his head, staring past the bookshelf of technical volumes and leather-bound classics. “How could I explain a rainbow to a blind person? Or an orchestra to a deaf one? The spiritlands are… a realm similar to, connected with but removed from this one. We each carry a piece of it with us, that mental landscape that we call home, as does the world itself. What happens there happens here, in some shadowy fashion, and vice versa. How she came to be in yours… I have no idea yet.” Watcher’s ears and tail twitched in irritation at the admission.

Alex blinked, his mind trying to wrap around the evidence of his senses through the last of his alcohol-induced haze. “So how… how did you find me?”

Watcher tapped the end of the black leathery pad of his nose. “Not literally, of course; I had never scented you before, and its range is limited. Based on your meeting, Briar described you to me, enough that I was able to detect you myself. It took effort, but following your mind led me here, as you might track the location of a phone by the signal it sends. Had you not been in such constant turmoil over this, trying to believe what you know to be true, I might not have found you. As it was, however, you were quite simple to locate.”

Alex fixated on those words, hoping to turn the Socratic dialog into a real one. “So how do I stop thinking about it? Ever since I saw her, I haven’t been able to get any of it out of my mind! I can still smell the river, taste the fish… even feel the grass beneath my feet. How do I make it go away?” His voice pitched up into near hysteria and he choked off his words there.

Watcher’s tail wagged once, then curled against his back. “I am unsure. I cannot even say how you ended up there at all. However…” He cocked his head to one side. “We may be able to help each other, Mr. Demont. One of my kind is dying, of a poison made by human hands that I cannot identify. I lack the ability to find a treatment. If you undertake this for me, I will do what I can to find a cure for your condition.”

“What?” Alex’s shout was almost a cry. “I can barely focus on my own work, and you want me to go hunting around for some obscure… research data? I can hardly believe you’re here and you want me to put down my life and hunt up some cure to some weird toxin? You’re crazy!” He rose, his fear gone, replaced with frustration and a touch of madness.

The wolf folded his arms, tail uncurling to shiver behind him. His ears went flat. “I offer you the best I can, Mr. Demont, and my time here is growing short. I can tell you that a tanker bearing a Landrick Petroleum logo collided with an AllChem truck on Interstate 70 near Deer Run National Park approximately two weeks ago. That should give you a start. As for the dreams, I would suggest prayer, or whatever else brought you there originally. In the meantime…” He glanced around the room, spying the blankets. “Lie down, there.” With that, he began hastily walking to the window, closing the blinds.

Alex looked around, his expression gone blank. “What?” The conversation’s train of thought seemed to have jumped tracks.

“Lie down! There! Now!” Watcher’s tone of voice indicated clearly that he was used to giving orders and having them followed.

Alex complied, trying to straighten the tangle of sheets and pillows out into something reasonably comfortable while Watcher moved about the room, turning out lights and moving furniture. Even as he laid there, eyes closed, his nose filled with the sweet scent of fresh water, of fish. His paws itched to feel the grass beneath them again and he sat up, a white-hot spark of pain blossoming in his mind. “Wh—what’s happening?”

“Do not speak.” The wolf’s tone was tender once more, but firm. “Lie back down and wait. I will do what I can for you.” He fumbled at his sash for a moment, opening one of the pouches and extracting a few leaves. “Chew these, slowly. Keep your eyes closed, and take care not to swallow too much beyond your own spit.” He knelt, placing the leaves on Alex’s chest with one paw, tugging the pouch’s laces closed with the other. Then, on his knees, he turned the sash to hold up a small rawhide drum laced into it by its wooden handle. Beaded straps dangled from the rim, and the head itself was decorated in sepia stains of a design long since faded.

Alex lay back, struggling to ignore the sudden headache, emotions knotting within him as he took the first leaf into his mouth and bit down on it. His tongue twitched, suddenly coated in harsh, minty bitterness, but he chewed slowly, ignoring the foul taste and trying not to spit it out. As his jaws worked over the rough-tasting leaf, Watcher began a mumbled chant, thumping the heel of one thumb against the skin of the drum, making Alex feel that much more estranged from his own life. Even as his conscious mind rejected the actions of the wolfman above him, labeling the whole of the last half-hour a fever-induced hallucination, the darker corners of his brain let loose a torrent of ideas spinning madly off into other more fertile grounds. For how long had he called himself a child of Bear? Didn’t he consider his time spent in the other life a blessing from the Mother herself? Was this, his fantasy made flesh, any less absurd than what had gone before? He lifted one pink, furless hand and laughed, as if expecting it to sprout fur at any moment, vaguely disappointed but unsurprised when it failed to do so. He wasn’t even shocked to find his mind clearing.

Watcher’s voice stopped dead, his ears perking. His tail curled tightly against his back. “My time here is done, Mr. Demont. I must go. I sense no threat, but I must ask on her behalf. Do you have any intent to harm Briar?” His words seemed rushed, even as he was standing, swinging the sash back around to its previous resting place.

Alex sat up groggily, spitting out a mash of green and brown, his headache making its presence known again but this time little more than a token gesture of dominance. The would-be bear opened his eyes and looked up at Watcher. “No, of course not,” he said calmly, mildly surprised at the quietness of his own voice in his ears.

Watcher’s tail, as well as the rest of him, visibly relaxed. “Then I take my leave of you. Chew those as you need, and spend an hour each night in a fire-lit room in prayer.” He rose, striding to the door in quick, easy steps. “We will meet again, Mr. Demont.” And with that, he was gone, the apartment door latching behind him.

“What the—hey!” Alex struggled to his feet against his drowsiness, dropping the wad of chewed plant matter onto the blankets. “Wait!” He felt foggy, but not the distracted prism of thoughts before, only the calm grey of exhaustion. He made his way unsteadily to the door, opening it, but Watcher was long gone, only the lingering scent of wood smoke and leather hanging in the air. Alex found within himself the strength to shut the door again and return to the blankets, and then he collapsed, mind drifting into quiet, peaceful sleep.