Seek and Ye Shall Find
by Jess Simms
The Changer's cave was deep in the forest, where the land just started to rise into the peak of Taqwubma. A long journey from the Seeker's village along the coast; he had left before dawn and the sun was half-sunk behind the trees by the time he reached the rounded rock shelf the men of the north river village had called Turtle Head Rock. A sight to lift his spirits—he had been walking long enough, with no sign of his destination, that he had started to wonder whether the men had fed him a tale. But if the rock was here, as they’d said it would be, it bolstered his faith that the rest of what they’d told him would be true, as well: that the Changer lived here, a being with the power to give the Seeker the future he deserved.
There was just enough light to see the cliff face through the trees as the Seeker turned south. The narrow dark void of the cave mouth appeared as he neared. He crouched to pass through it, squeezing his eyes shut to adjust his vision to the darkness when he straightened on the other side. When he opened them, he could just make out a narrow tunnel, a flickering glow lighting its far end. He paused where the tunnel widened into a chamber, casting his eyes about for the wise elder he'd come to find. A healthy fire blazed in a stone-ringed pit near the cavern’s rear wall, a clay pot hanging above it. A small spring-fed pool bubbled at the base of the wall to the Seeker's left. To his right, the wall was hung with furs and mounted antlers, cloaks and tools dangling from their points. Below them was a broad wooden shelf, its top a table scattered with animal bones and herb bundles in the semi-intentional look of a project in progress.
The Seeker was debating whether he should enter further when one of the furs along the right wall twitched aside, briefly revealing the entrance to a second tunnel as an elderly man emerged from it. He wore deerskin pants with a wolf pelt cloak, a basket cradled against his left hip, his long hair the variegated gray of stormclouds and pulled back into a tight ponytail. His cheeks and neck were hidden beneath a bushy beard, his dark eyes clear and sharp as they turned toward the Seeker, with no sign of surprise to see a stranger in his cavern.
“Are you the Changer?” the Seeker asked.
“There are those who call me such,” the old man said. “Have you come seeking transformation?”
“I have,” the Seeker said.
The Changer smiled. “Welcome. Come, sit by my fire. You must be tired after your long journey.”
“How did you know where I came from?”
“I don’t. But everywhere is a long journey from here.” The Changer placed his basket on the table and began to unload its contents, his back to the young stranger, as though unconcerned at any risk of violence. A bold show of trust, the Seeker thought. The Changer was short and slight; from the look of him, the Seeker would best him easily in any physical contest.
“The men who told me of your skills didn’t share details of how the transformation comes to be,” the Seeker said. “If there are materials you need me to gather, any tasks I must complete to prove my worth—”
“No need for all that,” the Changer said.
The Seeker eyed up the items coming out of the basket but they were nothing special. Root vegetables, it looked like, though what kind he couldn’t have said; he’d never concerned himself with growing or cooking things, his skills put to better use holding a bow or spear. That was what he told his parents when they told him sustenance was necessary for a warrior, that he should not depend on others to maintain his strength. That was what a wife was for, he told them. A rebuttal that was losing credulity the longer it took him to find one.
The Changer glanced over his shoulder to where the Seeker lingered. “If you insist on being put to work, you could give that pot a stir.” He gestured toward the fire with the knife now in his hand then set to chopping, staccato bursts of sound interrupting the stillness. And there was little for the Seeker to do but agree, though his mouth tightened at the request. He was not typically called to perform such menial tasks. Everyone in his village knew such things were below his stature. But the Changer was powerful, the Seeker reminded himself, and he’d come to ask for his help. So he crossed to the firepit and took the spoon from its hook, removing the pot’s lid to release a cloud of fragrant steam. A venison stew, he thought as he stirred the bubbling brown broth, and certainly more than the Changer could eat alone. The Seeker’s suspicions piqued. Had the old man been watching, known he was coming?
“You're welcome to a bowl when it's done,” the Changer called from his place at the worktable. “And you can refill your waterskins from the spring.”
The Seeker nearly asked how the Changer had known his skins were empty, but suspected he'd get the same answer as before: that everyone's skins were empty, by the time they reached his cave. The Seeker dug the flat skins from his pack and went to the burbling pool. The water was pleasantly cool as he plunged his hands beneath the surface, though it felt slightly strange, too, like it clung to his skin instead of flowing over it. He lifted one cupped palm from the spring, bringing its contents to his nose, but it had no smell. Its taste was slightly mineral but otherwise no different than the water in the village.
By the time the Seeker’s skins were full the Changer had finished chopping the vegetables and was on his way toward the pot. The Seeker capped his skins, joining the Changer by the fire, where he settled down cross-legged on the dirt just as the sliced tubers plopped into the bubbling stew.
“So what is it you seek to change, young man?” the Changer asked.
“I need a wife,” the Seeker answered.
“And you want me to make you a more desirable husband?”
The Seeker said, “There is no need. I'm already the obvious best match in our village. My father is the headman and I'm his eldest son. Marrying me will elevate my wife to a status she could never achieve otherwise. Besides which, everyone in the village knows I am the best hunter. I can fell an elk unaided, have no fear facing down a bear or cougar. And I am smart—smarter than those old fools who complain about my so-called attitude.”
“Given all that, I'm curious why you would need my help to find a wife.”
“I have been conspired against,” the Seeker answered, his voice rising with his pent-up frustration. “Every year, some from our village go to the nearby communities to meet potential mates.”
“And you were one of those chosen for this mission?”
The Seeker scowled as he nodded. “A suggestion made by my biggest rival. He framed it to make it sound noble, that it would be a show of good faith should the Headman’s son marry outside the tribe. But really, he knew I would have my pick of our women and wanted that privilege for himself.”
“And I assume, from your presence here, you didn’t find a match in this outing?” The Changer turned toward him briefly, a suggestion of a wink twinkling in his eyes, before his attention returned to the cookpot. He lifted his spoon to his lips, sampling the broth and nodding with satisfaction. The Seeker folded his arms across a chest tight with impatience. This Changer was supposed to be wise and powerful, but he seemed more concerned with his meal than the esteemed guest who had graced his home. If only he didn’t need his help, the young man thought, then he would show this arrogant old fool what happened when someone disrespected him. It was a lesson he’d had to teach many of those he’d met in the other villages; no one outside his own tribe seemed to understand the treatment he was due. But they would soon. With the Changer’s help.
“My rival filled the expedition with his sycophants,” the Seeker said. “They discredited me in each village we visited. Every time, when we arrived, the most beautiful women would flock to me, and we would enjoy each other's company. But then, within a few days, they would turn away when they saw me coming across a room, or slide down the bench when I sat beside them. And when we had spent a moon's cycle in their company, and the time came for the single women to declare their intent to wed, I was never selected. I was the only one who returned to the village unpaired. Then, to add further insult, by the time we returned home all of the women worth my time and attention had been claimed.”
The Changer finally ran out of tasks around the cookpot and settled onto the dirt beside the Seeker, studying him in the firelight. He propped his elbows on his knees, hands tented at the fingers, leaned forward like in rapt attention. The look of pity in his dark eyes stoked fresh anger in the Seeker’s heart.
“That must have been difficult,” the Changer said.
“It was wrong,” the Seeker snapped. “Even then men of the north river village saw it. They were the ones who told me of your cave here, after I explained to them about how weak-minded their women were to believe the gossip of those intent on discrediting me.”
“And what did they say that I could do?”
“That you would get me the restitution I deserved.”
The Changer nodded. “I see. And how do you imagine that I'm going to do that?”
The young man relaxed. Now they were getting somewhere. He sat up straighter, rubbing his palms together. He’d spent the entire walk from his village planning exactly what he’d request of the Changer and now told him, “I want you to change one of their minds. The most beautiful from the two forks village—the most attractive one out of the lot of them, to be honest, and no surprise she didn't find any of the others from our village to be to her choosing. She must know I am the best match but feared judgment from those who had been warned against me by my enemies.”
The Changer said, “They are enemies, now? I thought they had simply been misled.”
“If they are acting against me, doesn't that make them my enemies?”
“I suppose that would be one way to consider things.”
The Seeker had about had it with the Changer’s snide replies, great power or no. He scowled and said, “Listen, old man, I was told that you can bring about great change. Is that true or not?”
“It is.”
“So you'll change this woman's mind, so she chooses me as her husband?”
“No.”
The Seeker gaped. “What do you mean, no?”
The Changer sighed heavily. “You seem to misunderstand my ways. I will only change those who come in search of it.”
“But I am not the one who needs to change.”
The Changer lifted an eyebrow. “In that case I cannot help you. But you're welcome to stay the night. I have mats I can lay down for a bed, and the soup should be ready in—”
“I do not care about soup!” the Seeker shouted, surging to his feet. “I came all this way to reach you and now you tell me you won't help?”
The Changer was nonplussed by the Seeker’s show of anger. If anything, his gaze softened into amusement, like witnessing a tantrum from a cranky toddler. “Think on this,” he said. “If I did as you asked, and compelled this girl to marry you, would you really want that to be the foundation you build a home on? Knowing that she chose you only through my intervention?”
The Seeker drew back, confused. “What would that matter? I would have my wife. And she would get a fine home.”
“What if she would prefer to remain in her own village?”
“Then she is wrong. Any woman would be lucky to be my mate. Especially one from two forks village. The people there even have their own longhouses. They all live together, sharing everything—can you imagine? The best hunter must split his catch with those who can’t so much as snare a rabbit. Who would want to stay in that kind of place?”
Instead of answering, the Changer stood and started walking back toward the fur-covered tunnel.
“Where are you going?” the Seeker called after him.
“To retrieve the sleeping mats,” the Changer answered, without turning around. “Unless you intend to return to your village in the dark.”
The Seeker charged forward toward the Changer. “Now listen here, old man—”
And cut off as the breath was sucked from his lungs, as though he’d run into a solid wall. The Changer’s arm was inches from his grasping fingers but he was stuck, suspended mid-stride, unable to reach forward or pull back. The Changer turned, the twinkle returned to his gaze. “You may not be so smart as you think. I would call it an unwise move, to attack someone you believe possesses incredible powers.”
The Changer looked the young man up and down, shaking his head like disappointment. “It is a shame. You have much potential—you are not wrong on that point. Perhaps, someday, you will still find a way to realize it. But I see that you have come seeking transformation and will not be satisfied unless you receive it. So I will grant this request. From this day forward, your appearance will reflect your true nature.”
The Changer suddenly looked taller than he had before, and no longer seemed in any way frail. His eyes pulsed with a bright, white light, which shot from them to pierce the young man’s heart. A searing pain coursed through his skin, so intense he couldn’t even bring himself to scream. It felt as though he was being torn apart, until he was the light and the light was him, and he couldn't think or see anything more.
Some time later—the Seeker could not begin to guess how long—he came back to himself. He was no longer in the cave or held by the Changer’s invisible bonds. Instead, he was flat on his back, looking up at the tops of pines piercing a brittle blue sky. Stones and dropped needles poked his skin through the fabric of his tunic—but no, he realized. It wasn't a tunic. It was hair, or maybe better called fur, thick and brown and sprouting all over his body, he realized as he sat up and stared at himself. He tried to speak and instead let out a wordless moan, a hand rising to his mouth, where he felt thin lips over large fangs, all surrounded by that same thick fur. In a panic, the young man stumbled to his feet, casting his eyes around until they fell on a large lake nearby. The water was clear, transformed into a mirror by the moonlight, and the young man fell to his knees beside it. He stared down into the face of a monster. His eyes were red and glowing under a thick, protruding brow, the nose between them broad and flat, no trace of the handsome face he'd always known.
The young man sat back on his haunches and let out a howl at the sky. He looked around for anything familiar, any sign of the woods he had traveled to reach the cave. But he could see only trees, no landmarks he recognized within his line of sight. With another cry he bounded off into the darkness. He would find his way home, he swore in his mind—but first, he would find the Changer’s cave, and he would tear the old man limb from limb. Nobody disrespected him. Everyone from his village knew it. And he would not rest until he had taught the old hermit that same lesson. If it took ten years—a hundred years—he would get his revenge.