The Gully Snipe (The Dual World Book 1) (33 page)

The patriarch smiled gently at Gully’s challenge. “Balmoreans do not have a religion, in so many words. We tend to be a people that see fate in many things that happen.”

Gully raised an eyebrow. “Ah, a fate that defines a path inalterable, yes? A fate that removes choice and therefore responsibility? If something is fated, then it will happen no matter what actions one takes to the contrary,” said Gully. “It would seem quite convenient for one to have something like fate so readily available to remove one’s responsibility for troubles and bad conduct, would it not?”

“Of course, you speak wise and true, Gully,” said the patriarch, catching Gully’s challenge. His eyes sparkling in the purple dusk sky and firelight. “Such is the nature of all people... to set up mechanisms to shift the blame for all the wrong we do.”

Gully felt very satisfied at the point he had made to the patriarch.

“However,” said Aian, “that is not exactly the fate that we follow. The fate which we respect leads us to a point, but the path an individual chooses at that point is up to him. Or her, of course. Our view of fate does not eliminate free will or the responsibility that comes with it. In fact, it makes those things paramount. We see fate as the events and circumstances of the past that put individuals in their present situation, and all so that they then choose their way into the future.”

Gully wrinkled his nose as he thought through what the patriarch was saying. He had taken the small carved fox Wyael had given him out of his pocket and was turning it over and over in his hands. “So... fate is nothing more than the past because it is fixed and unalterable?”

“Yes. And no, too,” said the patriarch. “When someone has not yet chosen a path at a juncture, it is free will. When the path has been chosen, it becomes fate. But we do see a more mystic element to it as well, and this is where my faith,
our
faith, comes to play a part. We believe that sometimes, if we look carefully at the past, we can discern a design, or an intention even, that guided the events to a certain point. Guiding without precluding the free choices along the way. And that guidance and design leads to a point for a purpose, unknown to those at the juncture. We do not always see the past as merely a mechanical chain of causes and inevitable effects, of decisions and consequences. Sometimes we see a guiding purpose, specifically leading to a present situation, with the future hanging on a choice. Whether or not someone becomes a balmor and what animal form they take, for example, leads to a situation where that someone must decide what to do with it and how to use it. Perhaps you will find this impertinent of me, Gully, but I might pose another illustration of this. Suppose that someone wishes to spend time looking for a loved one, and chooses to become a thief to allow the freedom to do so. Years later, but as a direct result of that decision to become a thief, for example, that person discovers a very grave crime and is in a position to stop it. Balmoreans see these events and decisions as being very important, Di’taro, intentional.
Very
significant.”

Gully blushed slightly. He did not respond to the patriarch’s descriptions of his actions and dodged instead, “I understand the distinction you seek to make.”

The patriarch did not press his point further. He pointed at Gully’s hands and said, “Wyael was in a frightful rush to complete his carving before you returned. To be honest, I did not expect you back in our company so soon, but events have dictated otherwise. And I’m glad that little Wyael had it to give to you as a gift.”

Gully laughed as he examined the small carved fox in his hands. He held it up to the firelight and said, “He is very talented for one so young. Except for the color, it is a good likeness of Pe’taro.”

The patriarch nodded and said, “Ah, your father’s familiar was a red fox and not a gray one, then.”

Gully’s brow knitted and he said, “Well, no. He was a gray fox, but not like the wild ones we see in the forest. To be honest, the coloring was not like any fox I’ve since seen. Gray foxes have the grizzled gray and black pelts, exactly as Wyael has taken pains to paint on this one. My Pe’taro, though, was a pure gray, save for white ears. He was quite beautiful and had very soft fur. I never thought anything of it growing up, but since then I have realized I’ve never seen another fox colored this way.” Gully smiled as he remembered his father’s fox form. “Such a beautiful coat of fur on him, though... the color of pure smoke made into solid form as a fox.”

Gully thought back fondly and did not notice the patriarch rise up out of his chair. The silence became pronounced and Gully finally glanced over at him. The patriarch, both human and ocelot, were standing now, and looking at him strangely.

Gully became confused and asked, “Are you well?”

The strange look persisted on the patriarch’s face before he replied several moments later. “Your memory must not serve you well, Gully. There is no such thing as a fox of that color,” said Aian, an odd tone in his voice. He turned and looked off into the woods, away from Gully. “‘Smoke made solid’ is huffery... the vivid imaginings of a child changed to be the truth of memory over time!”

Gully looked at the carving in his hand again and shrugged. “I know it seems strange, and I’ve never seen another fox like him, but that is the only way I can think to describe his fur.”

The patriarch refused to look at Gully and paused for a long time. “I think you are remembering wrong,” he finally said, almost sternly.

Gully became confused at the patriarch’s insistence about his poor memory. He said, “I do not wish to upset you, patriarch. I would perhaps agree that my memory is not serving me well, except I even have memories of my father talking about Pe’taro’s uniquely-colored pelt with me.” Gully laughed uncomfortably and added, “I remember a few times when he even called it a ‘bonsmoke’ fox because of its strange color.”

The patriarch wheeled around and stared at Gully, and the color faded from the old man’s face. Gully almost withered under the burning gaze the patriarch gave him. He became increasingly nervous, and then the patriarch faced away again and stroked his chin nervously in silence for several more moments.

Gully said timidly, “I do not wish to say the wrong thing, patriarch, or upset you. I will speak no more of it.”

The patriarch turned back to him and said, “You’re sure of the color?”

Gully wasn’t sure if he should answer honestly and risk agitating the patriarch further. He mumbled, “Yes.”

The patriarch took his staff and walked over to Gully, and with a pained grunt, sat down on the log next to him. His ocelot form sat down on the ground on Gully’s other side.

The patriarch’s face looked even more puzzled, and his voice grew very weak. “What you said earlier, that things are happening... it is truer than you realize, perhaps.”

Gully frowned at the patriarch in confusion.

“If what you say is true, about Pe’taro, then I take back what I said about your father being a balmor familiar,” said the old man, his eyes locked strangely onto Gully.

Gully knew not what to say in response. The patriarch had been very convinced of his father’s nature the last time they spoke, and now he chose to renounce it? Gully did not understand.

“There was, once, another kind of balmor,” began Aian. “The animal forms of this balmor were called ‘bonsmokes’ because of their unnatural coloring, and they were colored this way because these animals did not exist in nature. Whatever animal form this balmor took, it would always have the same strange soft gray color with some bit of white, just as you describe. The reason that it looked like smoke, the reason they are called bonsmokes, is because that is from where the animal form would emerge, in fact.”

Gully sat stupefied, utterly confused by what the patriarch was saying. The patriarch stared at the fire in silence for a moment or two longer before he began again.

“This balmor is called a conjure, Gully, and they are extremely powerful. When a child that will become a conjure comes into his balmor nature, he begins to have dreams. It is my understanding that the dreams are of various kinds of different animals, until they settle down onto one particular animal. And then, when it is time, the child is drawn to a fire, usually a large bonfire built outside for the occasion. The child, with family gathered around for the very happy evening of a conjure coming into his balmor nature, stares into the fire and goes into something of a trance. As he stares into the fire, the smoke rising from the fire begins to change. It gathers together and coalesces. It turns solid and becomes the animal the child has dreamed of, always the color of the smoke from whence it forms, but as real and as solid as any animal of nature. The animal leaps forth from above the fire — a living, breathing animal brought into existence by the conjure.”

Gully said, “That is remarkable! You believe my father was one of these conjures?”

“I’m not finished, Gully. The origin of the conjure’s animal form is indeed remarkable, but it is not what makes a conjure so powerful. Once the bonsmoke animal appears, it is joined with the human balmor, much like a familiar. However, the nature of the animal
and the human
both
become entwined with the smoke from whence the animal came.”

Gully looked into the fire next to them, trying to understand what the patriarch was saying, but making no headway with it.

The patriarch took Gully’s hand and continued, “From that moment forward, the animal half or the human half of the balmor can... un-form. Either can vanish in a puff of smoke. And then, at will, reappear later.”

“I... I do not understand, patriarch,” said Gully. “Are you saying my father could go unseen?”

“No. Not just become unseeable. A conjure can
un-form
. As long as one half is present, the other can evaporate as smoke and then reappear later, as long as it close by the half that has stayed corporeal in the meantime. Think of what I describe means, Gully... Ollon, or Pe’taro, at any time, could vanish as smoke so that only the other one is left. And then, at will, reform later from a wisp of smoke, out of empty air.”

Gully did not know what to say. “But,” he said, “they... he... I never saw my father or Pe’taro disappear into a puff of smoke as you describe. Or appear from nowhere.”

“And your father, for whatever reason, never told you he was Balmorean, either,” said the patriarch gently.

“What you describe is impossible, patriarch,” said Gully.

“Impossible compared to what? Compared to a man and an ocelot being of one mind and soul? Compared to two twin brothers that can change instantly into twin wolves?”

“But...” said Gully, wanting to argue further, but finding it difficult if he was able to accept what he had already seen around the camp. “Are any of the Merchers these kinds of balmors? Who here is a conjure as you describe?”

“I have never seen one myself, Gully. Conjures, such your father was in my belief, are extremely rare. So rare that I have never personally known one, and only heard my grandfather tell of one he himself heard of in his childhood a very many years ago.”

“I do not think I can believe this!” said Gully.

“You yourself said that Pe’taro’s color was not any you had seen since. You know the forest and the foxes there; you know that
none
have pelts the color you describe. Ollon, your own father, described it using the name of a bonsmoke. When first you described Pe’taro’s coat, I had to challenge you to make sure your memory was not misleading you. Because if your father was a conjure, then it is very significant.”

“Why? You said it was rare, but that does not make it impossible for another one to have appeared. Does it?”

The patriarch licked at his lips nervously for a moment. “Conjures tended to belong to a specific family. One long thought gone and died out.”

“What sort of family?” asked Gully. He leaned forward towards the patriarch because any possible clue about his father’s background instantly commanded his attention.

The patriarch stared into the fire for a long while without answering him. He finally took his staff and began to draw in the sand in front of them, slowly, to the point of it being a reluctant effort.

He said as he drew, “Think back very carefully and tell me, Gully... do you remember if your father had anything that resembled this symbol? Clothing? A flag or pennon, perhaps? Even an emblem or trinket of some kind, maybe made of gold or platinum. Never silver, of course.”

In the sand, the patriarch drew two circles, left and right, that mostly overlapped each other. Around them, he drew another, larger circle so that the two overlapping ones were inscribed within it.

Gully gasped, stood up and almost tripped over the log when he saw what the patriarch had drawn. He pulled the pendant out from underneath his tunic and showed it to him. Attached to the simple leather cord, the pendant was the very same symbol the patriarch had drawn. It was not made of gold or any other metal, though. It was some sort of fine crystal, flawlessly cut and fashioned into the exact symbol the patriarch had asked about. It looked and glinted in the fire almost like it was made from the limpid water of a pure stream on a brilliantly sunlit day.

“How did you know?” asked Gully, almost breathless. “What does this mean?”

The patriarch did not answer. He shook slightly at the sight of the pendant Gully held out from his neck, and his staff fell unnoticed to the sand next to him in the middle of what he had drawn.

Gully was shocked and alarmed at what happened next. The patriarch fell from the log where they were sitting onto his knees, still trembling. His head fell forward until it almost touched Gully’s boot.

Gully exclaimed, “Patriarch! What has happened? Are you ill? Shall I call someone? Help! Help me!” Gully looked around frantically for anyone that could come and help.

Several people began to run towards them, but Gully heard the patriarch speak finally. The patriarch stayed almost prostrate, but said, “I am fine. And the words you spoke, ‘things are happening,’ have almost never been truer. I have an honor I never expected to be able to have, that I expected none of us would ever have again.”