"Reuben, The time has come for you to work on your own."
I had been sitting on the porch, reading the day's News and Observer when Mr. Forteau stepped out of the house carrying two glasses of iced tea and continued, "I've been thinking about the appropriate Shamanic ritual, and I believe that you need what others would call a familiar."
"A familiar," I said. I conjured images of black cats and talking owls, and shook my head.
Setting down the glasses, Mr. Forteau cut me off before I could speak, "Once again, you are confusing image with reality - a terrible and potentially fatal mistake for a mage. Cats and owls are possible familiars, but the form of the familiar is not important. A familiar is a companion, a potential source of wisdom, and an assistant in defusing the resistance of reality to change."
He went on, discussing the pros and cons of familiars in the pedantic manner I'd grown accustomed to over the past six months. I nodded, following the general flow of the explanation, although my attention wandered a bit back to the N&O headline that said "Helms Denies Satanic Connections, Blames Gay Conspiracy" until I was hit with a resounding *thwack* on the back of the head. Mr. Forteau hadn't moved or paused in his explanation, but that was no great surprise. I hated it when he did that.
Mr. Forteau finished by saying, "You have much preparation for this task. I will release you from our daily instruction for the duration, but you will report to me every week with your progress."
I was relieved that I would finally be getting a break from the physically grueling and mindbending tutoring of the past months, but suspected that the preparation wasn't going to be easy. I was right.
--
I sat in front of the block of wood, looking at it helplessly. "See the form in the wood, and that will be your first clue," Forteau had said. It was large, a cube almost four feet on a side. It should have weighed a ton, but seemed more like a little over 100 lbs. For such ridiculously light wood, it was harder than hell - more like oak than balsa. I would ask where Forteau on earth it came from, and what kind of wood it was, but I had learned by now that such questions rarely ever received comprehensible answers. And there was every chance that "where on earth" was a totally inappropriate question - where in the Tellurian would be more likely.
I was in my "workshop," actually the second bedroom in my two-bedroom apartment. There were wood shavings on the bare wood floor, left over from my last project. The radio was tuned to WXDU, and they had been off on some weird goth-metal set for the past hour. I decided if I was going to be useful, I'd have to get in a mood more creative than destructive, and switched over to WCPE.
OK, I thought, let's start with the basics. Animal, vegetable or mineral? Definitely animal. I took a wickedly curved knife as long as my hand and went to work on the edges, rounding the corners, musing about what shape the patterns in the wood suggested. Not reptilian, no. Not and insect or arachnid (I shuddered, relieved - reality can have a perverse sense of humor, and a spider familiar would be fitting, though repulsive).
A knot here, a whorl there. A change in the shade of the wood. A mammal, then. I went to work shaving off the lower portion of the block. I hit a knot, and carved around it, finding that my work left a rough shape of a hoof or a paw. Quadraped, then. When I stopped for the night, long past midnight, I had the rough form of a mammalian quadraped, though whether a large cat, a small horse, or a wolf or a dog, I was unsure.
I brushed the shavings off and turned off the light. Sleep was quick in coming.
--
Running. Woods. Running fast. Dodge this tree, jump this rock. Stop suddenly on top of a log - scent in the air. Prey. Hunted. Not there...there! That way! Leap from the log, run. Fast. Baying. Crashing ahead. Movement. There! Rustle of leaves, squeal of fear, the final jump...
--
I sat up in bed, panting. What the hell was that? I remembered Forteau's admonishments to pay attention to my dreams. I lay back, slowly, and thought of the images and sounds. And the smells - those were the most vivid part of the dream. The odor of rotting leaves, fresh, running water, and, from whatever was being hunted, fear. I looked at the clock: 6:08. My whole body rushed with adrenaline, and I knew that more sleep tonight was unlikely.
I padded to the bathroom, and then stopped in the doorway to the workshop. The roughly hewn wood stood in the middle of the room where I had left it. But in the half-light, I saw something...canine. A muzzle there, the chest muscles shaped just so there.
"Huh. I always wanted a dog." I laughed, a sound echoing hollowly in the workshop. I turned on the light and picked up a knife. "OK, Fido, let's see what you look like."
--
I looked at my watch, and blinked twice before I could read it: 5:13 AM. By all that's holy, no wonder I was hungry. And tired. I had had no sleep for the past 36, no, 42 hours. But it was done. Before me was a dog of wood. A big dog - I had heard of some large breeds, but had never seen any - perhaps this is what they look like. Or perhaps this is simply the product of my fevered imagination. Either way, it was a handsome brute - a huge, solid body, deep chest, and a noble head that looked off to the left as if sniffing for a lost scent. And huge - three feet tall at the shoulder. The honey color of the wood didn't look right, though. I looked over to my shelves at the collection of half-full cans of stains, mentally imagining the colors on the dog. Reddish? No. Darker - brown. Not dark enough. Black. Jet black.
I picked up the black stain and popped the lid off. Turning the dog on its side, I tried a little on the bottom of it's right hind paw, where it wouldn't show. The stain went on darker than I remembered, darker even than a stain should be - more like a black paint. But it was exactly what I wanted. I set the piece upright and went to work.
Three hours later, I was done. I glanced once more at the black beast I had created. I hope I did that right, I thought. The head didn't look right - did I accidentally create a crossbreed, or even worse, a breed that would never even have existed? The vulgar ramifications of this scared me. In a madness born of lack of sleep, I thought briefly of scrapping the piece and admitting defeat. I shook myself and vowed to sleep on it.
I walked to my bedroom, shucked my dusty clothes, and collapsed into a dreamless sleep. Well, almost dreamless. There was a moment, a brief moment, that stayed with me through waking. It wasn't an image, or a sound, or a smell. It was a feeling. And that feeling was of approval.
--
Twelve hours of sleep later, I felt much better. And incredibly hungry. I threw on jeans, a t-shirt I'd only work twice since washing it last, and a flannel shirt to keep out the March evening coldness, and jumped on my bike to ride down to Franklin St. I parked the bike outside of the Old Village Diner and went in.
Wolfing down my second hamburger, as I sat staring at the parade of students and homeless folk, I shifted my vision into The Dreaming, comparing what I saw with the view of Reality I had just seen. Not a lot of correlation. The building across the street was a stand of pines, and the lot next to it held a building that looked nothing like the Real one. Formless shapes drifted down the unpaved road there, and every so often, something less formless would skirt the corner of my vision. There were strange things in The Dreaming, things which, frankly, still scared me. After hearing Mr. Forteau's description of some of the more notable denizens there, I was wary of actually traveling there. I shifted my vision back to Reality and shook my head.
I wanted to stop by the Skylight Exchange for some caffeine fortification prior to the night's business, but I first stopped by The Intimate Bookshop to check something. Going straight to the "Pets" section, I looked through three or four books until I found one that had pictures of all of the breeds in it. I leafed past the poodles, pekes, labs, and shepherds without seeing my dog, then stopped at a perfect picture. The head was in a different position, but the rest was exact - chest, legs, even the tail matched. The legend below the picture read Irish Wolfhound. I had never even heard of a wolfhound. Huh. Maybe I was better at this than I thought.
--
I had cleaned up the workshop when I got back, more to put off the events of the evening than anything else. The idea of spirits entering a room with knives and paints and stains lying around was unpleasant, to say the least. Around midnight I finally admitted that I was as ready as I would ever be.
I had worked with the Spirit World with Mr. Forteau before, always under close supervision, though. This would mark the first time that I would be going it alone. I was surprised that Forteau wouldn't at least want to be around in case anything went wrong, but he only said that this was personal magery, and he believed I was up to it.
I had stowed all of my tools and materials; the only thing in the center of the room was the dog. I turned off all of the lights, stripped to my bike shorts and sat down on the floor next to the dog, shivering at the cold wood of the floor. I picked up my drum - a gift from Mr. Forteau - and began to tap out a steady rhythm. I closed my eyes and relaxed. Tum-tum-tum-tum. When I felt I was ready, I began a chant in a low voice, echoing off the tall ceiling.
Come to me: Eagle, Wolf, Bear and Cougar.
Dance we now The Power dances.
Eagle soaring above the peaks,
Share with us freedom, majesty and fighting skills.
Teach us lessons we need to learn.
Dance with us The Power dances.
Wolf, cunning tracker, by day or night.
Share with us endurance, courage and adaptability.
Teach us lessons we need to learn.
Dance with us The Power dances.
Bear, trampling along earthen paths,
Share with us mighty strength and sense of smell.
Teach us lessons we need to learn.
Dance with us The Power dances.
Cougar, lonely tracker of terrains,
Share with us agility, stamina and endless curiosity.
Teach us lessons we need to learn.
Dance with us The Power dances.
Movements slow
Movements rapid.
Frenzied swaying
Upward, downward.
Dipping, turning
Round and round.
Dance we now
The Power dances.
Dancing partners,
You and I.
With me, in me
I am you, you are me.
Together as one,
Yet separate, too.
Dance we now
The Power dances.
Awaken now
All Spirit Beings,
To dance the dances
With your human kin.
Dance the Cycles
Of Life and Death,
Hope and Fear,
Good and Evil.
Dance the Cycles,
Now and Again.
Lowerworld, Upperworld,
Journeying now
and forevermore.
Of Time and Space
All is Once,
There is none.
Dance the dances
Again and again.
In the midst of my chant, I had stepped sideways, although I hardly realized it. Now, in The Dreaming, I opened my eyes to see a swirl of Spirits around me, some formless, some in animal form. Bear and Cougar were represented, although Wolf and Eagle had not heeded my call. Well enough. My drumming stopped, and while some Spirits left, others hovered nearby, waiting to see what happened next.
I cleared my throat, a rusty sound. "I have a need, my friends." My voice sounded muted, hollow in The Dreaming. "I who serve Gaia seek your help. I have need of a companion...a f-familiar." I stumbled over the last word; I still was not sure I liked the master-slave connotations of the relationship between a mage and his familiar, although Forteau had only snorted when I mentioned it, saying that I would learn.
Out of the swirl of Spirits, one approached me. It was shifted vaguely between bipedal and quadrapedal, although it was too formless to make out a body. "I will take your offer. I have watched you, as I have watched your world. But I must have something..."
I waited. This was more conversation with Spirits than I had ever had, and I was elated that all had gone well so far.
"You have transmissions in your world. I would study these transmissions."
"Uh, transmissions? We have many. Of which do you speak?"
"The transmissions which are pictures and sounds, which give the Unknowable to the Unknowing."
"Pictures and sound...oh, television? Um, yes, I have a television. I can give you what you ask."
"I will also require bits of world to remain in your world."
It spoke of quintessence - yes, Mr. Forteau had warned me of this. "So be it. Are we agreed?"
"We are agreed." And without warning, the spirit rushed me, knocking me Sideways back into reality and, not coincidentally, knocking me out.
--
I awoke to hot breath on my face. I couldn't think who would be breathing on me, and why was the bed so hard all of the sudden? I opened my eyes to find myself on my workroom floor. The sun shone brightly through the windows, and the dog was gone. Or rather, it wasn't where I had left it. It was, instead, standing over me, looking me square in the face, panting.
*It's hot in this thing* A voice popped into my head. I started, and looked around. *Over here.* I started again, and looked at the dog. It looked me square in the face with a canine grin.
"Um, hi." God, that was lame. I felt drained, and not quite up to witty repartee, though. I levered myself up. *Hello. Are you well?*
I did a quick inventory, and outside of feeling exhausted, I was fine. *That's good. You should rest.*
"Yeah, that's probably a good idea. Hey, I'm going to grab a quick bite to eat, then a nap. Do...do you want something to eat?"
The dog's head cocked to one side as he eyed me quizzically. *Eat? No, that's won't be necessary.* From the way he "said" it, I understood that he would never need food. This stopped me - it was interesting how nuances could be conveyed through thought. The dog cocked his head the other way, then nodded.
"Do you have a name by which you are commonly called?" I asked.
*I have a true name, but that is not what you are asking. No, I have no name as you mean.*
"Uh, we'll go with 'Dog' then, until something better comes along."
*Dog. Dog. That will be fine.*
I started down the hall to the kitchen, but was stopped by a mental *Ahem.* I turned, "Yes?"
*Could you please direct me to your...television, I think you called it?*
"Oh, sure, no problem." Dog followed me into the living room, where I found the remote control under a sofa cushion and turned it on. An episode of Animaniacs was on.
"Do you want me to change the channel?"
*No, this will be fine.* Dog jumped up on the sofa, curled up in a most doglike fashion, and stared at the television.
"Uh, I'll leave the remote here if you need it."
*Fine*, distantly. Already it was preoccupied.
I shrugged, went to the kitchen and made a peanut butter and honey sandwich. As I ate it, I walked back to the living room to find Dog as I had left it. I finished my sandwich, shook my head, and said, "I'm going to bed. You need anything?"
*Hmmm? No, thank you.* Dog glanced my way, then returned its attention to the TV.
"Yeah, well, whatever. G'night," I walked back to my bedroom, glad that the curtains were heavy enough to block out the midday sunlight.
--
The next two weeks were interesting. The first time after he became my companion, Dog followed me out to Mr. Forteau's place. Or rather, sort of followed. He ran alongside my bike for a while, then veered off out of sight. Not surprisingly, he was waiting for me at Mr. Forteau's mailbox.
*Quite a strenuous mode of transportation you have there,* he observed, looking at my bike.
"Yeah, well, it gets me where I'm going," I said between gasps. The hill leading up to Forteau's place always winded me.
Mr. Forteau didn't seemed surprised to meet Dog, although I don't think anything has ever surprised Mr. Forteau. The two of them began talking on a different "channel" than Dog and I conversed, so I was left to wander the garden as they chatted. In the past few weeks, I had found Dog to be affable, yet cryptic. I never could understand why he obsessed over TV, but the only explanation he ever offered was, "They know." He didn't make a mess of the house, and as long as the TV stayed on, he was perfectly content. He even used the VCR, although how he managed to manipulate the tapes and controls with his paws was beyond me.
Every so often, I would be in the midst of thinking and Dog would break in, as when I was looking for a lost sock and a voice popped into my head, saying, *Look under the radiator.* I glanced around, but Dog was back in the living room on the sofa, as usual. He was right, of course.
One evening, I crashed over at Mary's place after a long night of talking. I had assumed Dog would be OK. When I arrived home the next day, he was waiting for me at the door. *Are you alright?*
"Sure, I'm OK. I'm sorry I didn't let you know I wouldn't be home."
*You could have contacted me.* He actually sounded hurt. *I missed you.*
"Oh, hey, I'm sorry. I'll let you know next time, I promise." I knelt down and hugged him, the first time I had ever really had any physical contact with him. He stood still for a minute, then pushed into my embrace. *Thanks.* And then he surprised me by licking my face.
That was the other thing that I noticed over the past few weeks - I had stopped thinking of dog as an "it" and more as a "he". Now, spirits don't have genders as far as I knew, but maybe it was because it was in a male dog's form, or maybe I felt masculine vibrations for him, I don't know.
By now, though I was comfortable with him around the house. When I wanted to watch TV, he would always watch what I wanted to watch, and we shared the sofa, sometimes with him lying against me, sometimes I against him. It was a comfortable arrangement.
I walked back up to the porch as Mr. Forteau and Dog stood up. "You've been quite fortunate, Reuben," Forteau said with a smile. "Dog may be better for you than you know."
"Uh, thanks, I guess."
With that, Forteau launched into the day's lesson as if there had been no intervening gap of time since the last lesson. Dog stayed for a bit, then padded into the house. I heard the high-pitched hum of a television go on and smiled.
--
It had been a long night. I had been over at Caffe Trio, reading the new Mercedes Lackey novel and watching the cute guys go in and out. As the evening went on, my self-pity increased. I saw several gay couples talking and cuddling together, and got more depressed. I didn't have much excuse - my studies with Mr. Forteau left me enough time to go out and meet other folks, but the clubs weren't my style, and the gay community wasn't focused enough for any coherent social groups outside of the bars, unless you already knew someone in one of the organizations, and you met them at The Power Company or Legends. Bah.
I walked back to my place in the cold, thinking dark thoughts and feeling sorry for myself. Oddly, the light of the TV didn't show through the living room window as it usually did when I left Dog at home. I pulled out my keys and opened the door. Dog was sitting just inside. *You're sad.* An observation, nothing more.
"Yeah, well, I'll get over it. I just get depressed sometimes, that's all." I walked past him into my bedroom, where I stripped down to my boxers. I sat on my bed and rubbed my eyes.
Dog followed me and stood in the doorway. *Why?* And behind that question, I heard other nuances, why are you alone? why are you scared?
That stopped me. Why was I alone? And I knew the answer, although I had never allowed myself to admit it. Fear. "I don't know - I see all of these other people and they don't know me..." or want to know me, I finished the thought silently. I wiped a hand across my eyes, surprised to feel them wet with tears. "Maybe I'm too picky. Or too shy. I don't know. It would be nice to have someone to be with, just to h-hold..." I was sobbing now, lost in despair.
As I sat there, my head in my hands, a hand rubbed my shoulder. I jerked up, sharply, to see a black man kneeling before me, concern in his brown eyes. "D-Dog?" I stuttered.
"The very same," he said, and his voice was as I imagined it would be - deep, rumbling tones. He sat down on the bed next to me, putting his arm around my shoulders. "Listen to me: I know you. Better than anyone else, sometimes better than you yourself." He pulled me close. "You must know that I care for you, as do your friends. You are never alone."
"Oh God," I turned and hugged him, hard. I leaned on his shoulder and cried silently as he whispered reassurances in my ear. I sniffled, thinking I was getting his shirt wet, until I realized he had no shirt. Pulling away from his shoulder, I realized he wasn't wearing any clothes at all. And I also realized he was beautiful. I hiccuped a shy laugh.
"Um, Dog, you aren't wearing any clothes."
"I am relieved your powers of observation are unimpaired. I rarely have need for clothing, as you may have noticed. Are you better?"
I laughed again. "I think so. I just need to wallow in self-pity every once in a while."
He looked at me seriously. "Because you fear? Because you doubt? Because you are human? I see no shame there."
I hugged him again, and he returned the embrace. "Thank you, Dog." I pulled back, and looked into his eyes, into the care reflected there. I hesitated, then brushed my lips against his. He responded, returning the kiss with fervor. We fell back onto the bed.
--
So began a deeper relationship between myself and Dog. Occasionally he would take human form, and while we sometimes wound up in bed, more often we just held each other, and cuddled. Now that I know him better, I cannot say for certainty that there is love in our relationship, at least not from his side, but I believe there is genuine affection, and for now, that is enough for me. Dog never starts anything, but seems to enjoy being close and being more intimate. I wonder sometimes if he is only humoring me, but then I see his brown eyes, glowing with warmth and affection, and I know I am wrong.