MISANTHROPE

        The door of the rough wooden lodge burst open, allowing the wind
freedom to infiltrate the room with large flakes of snow and make as much
of a nuissance of itself as it was capable.  With the cold came a bundled
figure, who labored briefly against the wind and once again confined it to
the exterior of the building.  The bundled man threw a set of traps, all
empty, on the floor with an air of disgust and stamped the snow from his
boots.

        "Still no luck, eh, Trapper?" Flint asked, as the other man began
to remove his outer layers of clothing.

        "Plenty, Flint.  All of it bad!  Feh!  I think all the animals with
sense are in their burrows for the season.  All the stupid ones got caught
already.  Now there are only empty traps for dinner."

        "Hunter said he saw a deer yesterday." Harrison said, as the young
lad began cleaning up the moisture boots and wind had placed near the door.
"Said he was up in the North, but the deer ran into the woods."

        "Hunter is a great fool to range that far." said Flint.

        "Not so great a fool if he catches it." Harrison countered.  The
older men shared a hearty laugh at the boy's expense.

        "What good is it to take down a deer, if you will never live to eat
it?" Flint asked, "Those woods are protected by a spirit, a great black
bear that may not be touched by trap or missile.  You'd be better off going
for a nice naked swim in the lake than hunting there."

        "You've seen this spirit?" Trapper shook his head, and grinned.

        "No, but I've seen his tracks, and what he does to my traps.  I'd
say I once missed him by no more than a few hours once.  Here." He nudged
one of his snares forward.  The trap was currently unset, so the jagged iron
jaws were clasped tightly together.  "Set that, would you?"  Harrison pulled
at the jaws, and for his trouble came away with a pinched finger, which
began rapidly turning purple.  "Pretty heavy, isn't it?  I lost about ten
of these in those woods.  They were ripped apart.  There were a couple that
survived."  With a sudden motion, Trapper leaned back and swung his leg up
on the table, making Harrison jump.  Trapper pulled back the leg of his
breeches, revealing an assortment of deep, ugly scars. "See this?  One of my
traps did this.  It wasn't where I left it.  I bled near to death before
Flint found me.  I still got a couple of traps I can't find.  And I'm not
about to go looking for them, either.  You wanna die?  Go into those woods."


        Malcolm shook the dusting of snow that covered him away, and entered
the sanctity of his cave.  He'd redecorated since last year... or was it the
year before?  and now his walls were lined with small humanoid skulls.  The
humans had given him room, but the lutins seemed determined to share the
forest with him.  He almost wished that human would come back and try to lay
traps again.  They were good for laying ambushes.

        The winter was always hard for Malcolm.  His ursine body wanted him
to sleep, and he spent most of the season in a sort of torpor.  Time passed
strangely, and he was never sure when he woke up just how long he'd been
asleep.  The humans would not be a problem.  By now, they knew better than
to invade his territory.  If not for the lutins, he might have felt
comfortable with the needs of his body.  Malcolm had a moment of self-mocking
humor.  The irony, that he, of all people, should be forced to fight his
animal desires.  He spent a large part of his days now in a waking dream, and
he often reminisced about the past.  His amusement brought to mind old
arguments, and he curled up and rested as his mind began to wander.


        "So, let me get this straight." The bear paused in his speech to take
a draw from his mug, "You're a coyote... and you refuse to eat meat." His
drinking companion nodded.  Malcolm gave him a scornful laugh.

        "An enlightened man avoids causing needless suffering.  Whatever you
may say, there is no way to obtain... flesh... without harming an animal."

        "So you're one of those eastern types who don't eat meat.  That's
great.  While I don't agree with you in practice, I can certainly agree with
you in principle." The coyote monk smiled.

        "Why do you not apply the principle to your practice, then?"

        "Because, I'm a bear.  And you're a coyote." Malcolm thought about
that for a moment. "Permit me to correct myself.  I'm a bear/human hybrid,
created by a curious mixture of spell, couterspell, and some native magic of
this structure, and you are a coyote/human hybrid, created by that same
curious mixture.  We are all required to adapt to our new lives."

        "But, while some people come here looking for a new start, are not
our "new" lives merely a continuation of the old?" The monk questioned.

        "That's true.  But in order for one to survive, one must change.  As
an old philosopher once said "To live is to change, to remain the same, to
stagnate."  Half the insanity and nonsense around here comes from the fact
that too many people are trying to hold on to parts of themselves that aren't
there anymore." Several nearby morphs perked ears and smiled at that. "NO,
you perverts, I don't just mean the gendermorphs!" The bear raised his hands
to the heavens and rolled his eyes.  "Listen, you're a coyote.  You NEED
meat to survive."

        "Not so, my friend." The coyote countered, "There are many
vegetables and herbs that my body is capable of digesting which provide me
with adequate nutrition." The bear shook his head.

        "Say that if you like, but I can bet you that in less than a year,
you'll be sick of eating vegetables.  No, let me correct that.  You'll be
sick FROM eating vegetables.  Human beings can be reluctant herbivores.  It
is within their capabilities.  Humans are omnivores, capable of consuming and
deriving nourishment from a variety of foods.  Coyotes are carnivores.  While
they may at time require herbs and grasses to suplement their diet, they are
not equipped to survive off of a vegetarian diet."

        "But as a civilized being, I can still make a concious choice not to
eat meat.  The mind can impose it's will upon the body."

        "The body is not your only concern, Shinto.  There is the soul and
the heart to contend with.  Though we may wish to think that our thoughts and
desires are untouched by our new forms, this simply isn't true. Your body,
your mind, your very SOUL are forever combined with that of the coyote.  We
are not human anymore, and a wise man knows better than to fit a square peg
into a round hole." The monk nodded.

        "Perhaps so.  But if that is so, then I still choose to be a fool
who adheres to his principles." The bear laughed.

        "I'll drink to that."


        The bear murmured, recalling the taste and texture of alcohol.  It
was one of the few trappings of civilization that he missed.  In a way, he
was much like the Solfire Monk.  A fool following principle instead of true
reason.  A fool driven to foolishness by pride.  A justifiable pride, though.
He'd accomplished what he'd set out to.  He'd proved his point.

        The only other thing he really missed about civilization was paper.
He'd thought of several delightfully despairing stories over the past few
years, and they'd never be heard outside his own mind.  "If only I had one
of those little magic boxes those Writer's Guild fools used to fantasize
about." He mused sleepily, "I could talk to people anytime I wanted.  Ah,
but then people could talk to ME..." He drifted off, remembering some of his
favorite stories.


        "What are you reading?  I've never seen such a face.  Spelling
errors?"  Habukkuk hop-stepped over to where Tallis was reviewing a story
submission.  The rodent shook his head, still grimacing.  "Poor grammer,
then? Something must be horribly wrong with the story for you to look at the
page that way."

        "It's not the words, it's the story itself." The rat replied, "I've
never seen anything this... bleak."

        "Who wrote it?"

        "Malcolm." The kangaroo nodded.

        "That figures.  What's it about this time?"

        "This one's really bad.  It's about a future where magic mirrors
watch every aspect of people's lives.  Privacy is just a fading memory." The
kangaroo shrugged.

        "That's not so bad.  I've seen other people write speculative fiction
about the loss of privacy.  Remember the one Oren did about the magic boxes
that let people all over the world write to each other?" Tallis shook his
head.

        "It's not like that.  It's... you'd just have to read it.  The whole
world is rigidly ordered... it's a crime to even think the wrong things.
People spend their lives lying to themselves, then lying about lying.  There
are only a few people who even remember what it's like to think for
themselves, and even doing that much is criminal!" The 'roo spread his hands.

        "So it's a story about struggling against impossible odds."

        "No, by the end, even the hero is broken.  In the end, hope dies, and
nobody wins, because there's not even a real villain.  Everything is just
lies and appearances, and the whole world is just a machine that keeps itself
going just for the sake of existing."  The rat shook his head.  "This is the
first time I've ever really wished I hadn't read a story."


        Malcolm had been delighted, of course, to have evoked such a reaction.
They thought it was speculative, but they didn't realize that the world was
running that way.  Look at religion.  The concept of sin went hand-in-hand
with the future he envisioned.  If people believe that sin must be outlawed,
and to think evil thoughts is a sin, then must free thought not be outlawed?
There were many, many people who would implement methods to make it so if
they could only find a way.  Malcolm was thankful that most people of that
persuasion were also profoundly anti-magic.

        Of course, many people at Metamor were anti-magic as well.  That
paradox was a mystery to Malcolm.  That one could, by upbringing, be inclined
to believe magic was inherently wrong made sense.  Indeed, it was all too
easy to understand, since religions didn't generally like things that compete
with their control over the minds of the public, and magic put godlike power
in the hands of mere mortals.  However, to loathe magic even when your very
life depends on it... that defied logic.  "How horrible it must be," he
thought, "to be imprisoned by your own ignorance."


        "So here I am, trapped in this prison while the bastards who jumped
me are out there."  The drunk stoat flung a hand in the general direction of
anywhere.

        "Well, well, aren't you a sad sack?" Malcolm asked, abrasively. "Poor
little victem, aren't you?  Look around you.  See anyone better off?"

        "I sure do!" the stoat yelled, "A lot of these freaks came here
willingly!  Most of the rest were here before.  They had their chance to get
out." The stoat glared at the other patrons of the bar with a bleary eye,
as though daring them to take offense.

        "So do you." The bear suggested calmly.

        "You're crazy.  Nobody leaves the Keep.  'Cept maybe the bimbos and
the brats."

        "People leave all the time, and come back." Malcolm countered,
"Animal morphs generally don't go very far, or stay away for very long.  Can
you guess why that is?"

        "Because you and the rest of these Godless heathens have made this
place into a temple of sin.  And so far as the faithful know, I'm just
another deamon.  Like you."  The stoat was talking himself up for a fight.
It was funny in one way, and rather disturbing in another.  The stoat didn't
have a chance of winning a fight with the bear, and they both knew it.  He
wanted a fight.  He wanted to feel the pain, to have a solid target to vent
his rage against.  He had become the stuff of his nightmares, and he wanted
to be punished for it.  Malcolm, however, was not feeling so generous as
that.

        "They don't go because ignorant bafoons like yourself don't know any
better.  They also don't go because they don't realize that they can."

        "That's not true, Malcolm," Tim put in, pulling up a stool beside
the bear, "Where could we go, aside from the far East, where we wouldn't be
hunted?" The bear shrugged.

        "Perhaps nowhere you won't be hunted, but you, for example, can go
anywhere outside the Keep, if you wanted to.  Except the province of Kenjari.
I think they still believe that cats promote plauge."

        "I don't understand."

        "Really?  Then understand THIS!" With a roar, Malcolm morphed to full
bear.  His muzzle pulled forward slightly, his legs shortened, and his entire
body seemed to thicken.  Several seams pulled loose on his shirt.  A moment
later, he was back in his morphic form, pulling his shirt together where a
few of his buttons had popped off.  "People hunt bears, you know.  But not
the way they hunt monsters and deamons.  And, as you know, I'm smarter than
your average bear.  I could survive outside the Keep as a bear.  Just as you,
Tim, could get by as a cat.  It would take some adjustment, but you could
manage."

        "But that would mean giving up on being human entirely!" Tim
protested.

        "Is that really so much to lose?  Are human beings, as a whole, really
such admirable creatures?  Animals live much cleaner lives, Tim."

        "Malcolm, we've had this discussion before."

        "But never to a satisfactory conclusion!  I had hoped that, here, in
this kingdom of monsters, I could finally be free of the yoke of humanity.
But even here, there is no escape.  I had hoped to find a land of
enlightenment.  Instead I find fools who cling to what they've lost and moan
and bewail their poor, lost humanity."  He raised his voice in his anger, so
the entire bar could hear him, "Do ANY of you realize what you've been given?
A few of you talk about getting a second chance, of finding a new life.  But
don't you see, the Keep has reforged us all into new, fabulous creatures!
We are free of the burden of being human!  No longer must we associate
ourselves with that loathsome race everytime we see ourselves in the looking
glass."

        "Malcolm, keep it down!" Tim hissed, "You're sounding like that
Potter kid."

        "NO!  Do not misunderstand me.  I'm not saying that we should live as
animals.  I am NOT a bear, no more than you are a cat or Wessex is a 10 year
old.  But neither are we human!  We are something greater than either, and it
infuriates me to listen to you fools moan about it."  Malcolm looked around.
Most of the patrons were staring at him.  Some looked angry, some bored, some
contemptuous.  A few were studiously ignoring him, keeping up their own
conversations as though he hadn't spoken.  Nowhere did he see understanding.
"I'm leaving, Tim."

        "Well, I'll keep your seat warm.  Don't take too long." Tim tried to
make light of the matter, but he could hear the finality in Malcolm's voice.

        "No, Tim.  I'm leaving the Keep.  And I'm not coming back.  Not until
these fools stop trying to lower themselves to human standards."


        Malcolm woke up.  He hated this part of winter, when he'd black out
without warning.  The need for sleep was like a shroud laid around his
brain, a thick, cottony stupidity.  He hated this worse than anything else.
He longed to hibernate as his body demanded, but he knew that so long as the
lutins remained in his woods, he risked never waking up again.  It would only
take one lutin to chance on his cave and put an end to him.  With an effort,
he forced himself up.  He looked around, and noticed that the row of skulls
that ran along his wall still had some gaps.  "Time to collect some more
decorations."


        "But Malcolm, we've talked about this before.  You can't leave the
Keep!"

        "Why not?  Is the mighty Duke Hassan going to have his men put an
arrow in my back?"

        "That's not what I mean.  What if you get injured?  A broken leg
might not sound like much, but without treatment, it can be fatal!"

        "I'm more worried about arrows." Malcolm admitted, to the cat-morph's
surprise, "But I'm working on dealing with these things.  Fortunately, I have
an advantage over most creatures."

        "What's that?"

        "I happen to know some sympathetic mages." Malcolm smiled as he
pulled out a set of charms.  "This one is for healing, this one is a ward
against missiles, this one is for stealth... I'm well prepared for the rigors
of the wild."

        "They just... gave you powerful artifacts?" Malcolm laughed.

        "Not exactly.  They aren't that powerful, for one thing.  And I have
a lot of things I can't take with me, including my personal library.  Mages
are just crazy about old books, even non-magical ones.  I actually think one
might have had some magical application, though I acquired it because of the
section on philosophy.  I won't be needing them, I'm sure.  That skunk fellow
was actually quite generous.  I almost think he was tempted to join me.  He
was very knowledgable about runewards, too."

        "When are you going to leave?  Where will you go?" Tim asked.

        "I'll leave... soon, I guess.  It's not like I'll have a lot of
packing to do.  As for where... I'm going to go home, Tim.  I remember the
woods near my home were beautiful.  Especially the places that people hadn't
trampled."

        "Will you ever come back?"  


        Bonetooth was having a bad day.  The shaman had said that the great
bear spirit would be slow, now that the earth was frozen and all the nature
spirits had gone to ground.  But if the great bear was slow, he still was not
stupid.  Four of the lutin hunting party were down, their legs shredded by
the iron jaws of the bear's traps.  The bear was cunning.  Bonetooth knew
that the traps were made by humans, but the great bear stole them.  The bear
had Bonetooth's respect.  The lutin didn't want to fight the great bear.  But
he didn't want to face the shaman either, and if he could send away the bear
spirit, he would be much respected by the rest of the tribe.

        The party descended into a small vale, and a mist rose up around
them.  Bonetooth really didn't like this.  You don't hunt animals when you
can't see.  You especially don't hunt spirits when you can't see.  But the
shaman was not to be denied.  The great bear's spirit was housed near here,
of that, the shaman was certain.  If they could find the place where the
great bear made its home, they could dispel him.  The shaman had given
Bonetooth a great magic.  The lutin leader fingered the primitive fetish he
was carrying.  The claw was from an eagle, and it gripped a smooth white
rock.  Bonetooth didn't know where the shaman found such a stone.  Sometimes,
those questions were best left unasked and unanswered.

        The mist suddenly seemed to thicken, and Bonetooth knew that his life
was in peril.  The forms of his fellows were merely dark shadows against a
background of grey.  He looked around, worriedly.  He saw a quick motion out
of the corner of his eye, and spun around to look.  He found nothing there.
Another such motion, from another direction.  He looked forward again just
in time to see a dark shape engulf the form of the lutin ahead of him.  He
clutched the fetish tightly, and thrust it in front of him to ward of the
forest spirit.

        "This place mine!" A booming voice declared, speaking fluently in the
dialect of his tribe, "You leave here, not come back!"  Bonetooth heard a low
growling and spun around to face the great bear.  A mighty swipe of his paw
sent the fetish spinning out of Bonetooth's hand to vanish in the mists.
"I great, powerful spirit.  Tell shaman his magic small, he anger me.  Next
time, I come to him!"  Somehow, the bear seemed to suddenly loom larger still,
and Bonetooth felt a rapidly cooling warmth as he stained the snow beneath
him yellow.  "GO!"  The lutin ran as fast as his tiny feet would carry him.

        Malcom picked up the fetish.  It was actually fairly sophisticated
work for such a primitive mage as a shaman.  Then again, wardings and such
were a shaman's specialty.  If Malcolm had truly been a bear spirit, and not
a magically shape-changing bear-morph, the fetish would have repulsed him
completely.  The pearl was particularly troublesome.  It indicated that the
lutin's shaman had more powerful backing.  On the other paw, it could have
been stolen from any number of sources, or even acquired from a complicated
series of trades.  Malcolm shrugged, crushing the fetish and tossing the
pearl into the snow.  It was late in the day, and using his charms was very
draining.  He'd stack the bodies in the snow and get around to collecting
their skulls later.  For now, he wanted nothing more than to rest.  And
perhaps, to dream again of Metamor.