The Spirit of the Cat

Alanna took a deep breath. "Please. Wait. I don't want any tea." Her voice shook. "Please just tell me what the hell's going on."

She was determined, he would grant her that much. "Rest." Old Man moved determinedly to the door. "I will return in a moment."

Rest. Rest? As if she could! "This is insane. I'm insane." Her head snapped up. That was it! Whatever bug she had picked up and the fever, it had all just made her completely delusional.

"None of this is real! I haven't left Australia yet. I'm still on vacation. I'm still at the Station. I'm still sick and I'm dreaming Badly, but I'm dreaming." She plopped back into the thick bedding, feeling decidedly much better. "I'll just close my eyes now. When I wake up, I'll feel much better and all of this will have gone away." She snuggled down into her pillow, falling quickly into a restless sleep.

****

The old woman sat next to a well deep in the heart of the red desert. Her legs were crossed carefully beneath her and her robes, sky blue this time, lay neatly about her. "It is about time you returned, child. I have been waiting for you. We have little time now."

No! It could not be! This was the old woman she had dreamed of the night before she left Australia. She never dreamed the same thing twice. Alanna shook her head. "This isn't happening." Her voice was desperate.

Oh, worry, worry. It would take much to move this one past her denial and they had so little time. "Be easy child." Old woman patted the red earth beside her. "Sit with me a while."

Alanna moved forward slowly, inching closer to the old woman. Gingerly, as if this reality would shift and something new and awful break through, she dropped to sit on the hard-packed earth.

Alanna swallowed. "You said... In my dream, last time, you said you had something to tell me."

This was encouraging. At least the Chosen One admitted there had been a last time, even if her brain continued to claim the Dreaming was all an illusion. Old Woman nodded her head, causing her white hair to swing gently around her shoulders like a shimmering cloud. "And I did, child."

She did? Alanna thought carefully for a moment, attempting to recall the details of her first dream. She shook her head, "No... No, you said you'd..."

Old Woman took Alanna's hand, hoping the contact would give the poor child an anchor. "I said you would come to know everything you need to know. I set the answers within you, child. You need only listen to your soul a moment."

Confusion welled in Alanna's green eyes, "I..."

Warmth flowed from the Old Woman's lined hands, filling Alanna's body with peace. "In every generation, child, there is one born among us who is destined to carry a great responsibility." Her eyes, so like the Old Man's in their depth and darkness, took on an eerie glow. "You, Alanna, are the Chosen One for this generation."

The one chosen for what? This illusion was just as bad as the one with the Old Man. Alanna shook her head, "I don't understand."

Old Woman touched Alanna's cheek gently. "Look into my eyes, child. See the reflection of your soul in mine."

Alanna fixed her gaze on the old woman's face, slowly raising her eyes to meet the dark one's before her. Her brow wrinkled in concentration. Images flicked in the deep black pools of the old woman's eyes. How strange. How very strange. Alanna saw a woman, tall and lean with red-gold hair. "I... That's me. Isn't it?"

Alanna leaned closer. The images changed. She saw herself accepting the totem from the old man and then... something golden seemed to flow from the totem. It flowed outward from the stone resting between her breasts, covering her image like a glaze, almost obscuring her completely. "What is that?"

Old Woman's rough hand touched Alanna's face gently, pulling her attention from the vision. "Do you not remember, child? Do you not remember what it felt like when Old Man gave you the totem?"

"I... It felt... It was like the world tilted on its axis." Alanna bit her lip. "Everything felt... off. Like somehow there were two of me competing to be in the same space at the same time."

"Yes." Old Woman dropped her hand from Alanna's face. "You are you, but at the same time you are the Other."

Alanna shook her head. "The Other?"

Old Woman nodded. "Yes, you are the Guardian of this generation, child. It is you who has the responsibility to care for the Tjurunga, the Other who now resides within you."

"The Tjurunga? But, that's just a story." Unconsciously Alanna wrapped her hand around the totem hanging from her neck, smoothing her fingers across the stone's rough surface.

Old Woman sighed, regretting just how much the People had forsaken in their quest to progress, to modernize. "It is a pity that the People have lost the memories of their ancestors. Each generation believes less and less in the stories of the Ancients." Old Woman stood slowly and held out her hand to Alanna. "Come, child. You must return to the world now. Your soul is not yet strong enough to stay for so long in the Dreamtime."

"But..."

Alanna gasped, wide-eyed. She was once again in her own bed, and there was a cup of hot tea sitting on the night table beside her.

CHAPTER FOUR

Alanna padded on bare feet down the smooth, wood planked hall to her kitchen. The tea had revived her. It was time to track down the old man who plagued her waking dreams. It would be nice to finally get some solid answers. And maybe a good meal. She was positively starving!

Old Man looked up from the pot he was stirring. Ah, the young one had returned from her Walk in the Dreamtime. "There you are, Guardian."

Alanna's nose twitched. Hopefully the food was not an illusion, because whatever the old man was stirring around in her big metal stew pot smelled absolutely divine! She licked her lips hungrily. "You're cooking?"

Old Man nodded. Intense hunger was a sign the essence of the Tjurunga was fully melding with the young woman's. "Your body is still adjusting, young one. You will need to eat well and often to satiate your cat and keep your body healthy."

Alanna had almost forgotten. This was why she had come searching for the old man in the first place, but the delicious food smells had distracted her. "About that, the adjusting thing, what do you mean?"

Questions. Always questions. Old Man handed her a thick bowl of stew. "You already know the meaning, young one. You are a Guardian. Your body hosts the Tjurunga—the spirit of the Others. Did not Old Woman tell you this?"

Old Woman? Alanna's mouth dropped open. Surely the old man did not mean the creepy old lady from her fever induced dreams?

Old Man sat in the chair across from the young Guardian. "But I do mean the woman you saw in the Dreamtime, child."

Alanna dropped her spoon, spilling bits of stew across the table. "You read my mind? You read my mind! Oh, my Gods!"

Old Man reached out swiftly, grabbing her wrist to keep Alanna in her chair. "Shhh, child. Calm yourself. Even in this time there are those who can pick the thoughts from others."

Alanna yanked hard, trying to pull loose from the old man's grip. "Psychics, sure. They claim they can read people's minds. But they aren't real. They're all fake. 'Reading minds' is just a way for creative people to make an easy buck or two."

How time had changed things. Old Man clicked his tongue. "Tsk, child. Are you truly such a non-believer? Do you not believe there are things of this world that are well beyond the grasp of human understanding?"

Alanna did believe that spirits greater than man had formed and guided the earth. But she was somewhat of a Deist at heart; believing that the Gods had stepped back and basically left people to their own devices. In Alanna's rule book of life, all things mystic and mythical were merely creations of a desperate mind—forged out of the human desire to be closer to the Gods who had abandoned them so long ago. Alanna blinked. "Not really, no."

"Hmmm." Old Man shook his head sadly. "Old Woman told me you would be difficult, but I had hoped… Surely the Others would not have chosen a host with a mind so closed to the Gods?" He stood rapidly, pushing away from the table. "Your training, I think, will require more assistance than I can provide alone."

Alanna thought she saw the old man's image blur. Damn, this virus was something else! She rubbed her eyes, blinking rapidly to try and bring the old man back into focus.

Alanna dropped her hands. Impossible! The old man had vanished. Leaving Alanna alone in the kitchen, gaping at the empty space before her, where only a bowl of stew now resided.

****

Sometime later, replete with the stew she knew she must have made herself—even though she did not remember doing so—because there was no way the old man had ever really been in her apartment, let alone disappeared into thin air in her kitchen, Alanna sat in the living room trying to work up enough courage to dial her physician's after-hours service.

She stared at the phone. "I'll just call them up, tell them I've picked up some foreign virus and am hallucinating from the fever. They'll work me in." She turned it on, then off. Then on and off again..

"I would suggest you set the phone down, Miss Shepherd."

Alanna groaned. "Oh, God. Not again." Why would these hallucinations not leave her alone? She banged the receiver to her forehead.

A dark, masculine hand covered with fine hairs forcefully took the hand-set from her. "Stop this now! You could cause yourself physical injury, Miss Shepherd." Why some women resorted to histrionics in times of stress he could not fathom. "You are not ill, woman. I am real. This is real. You are not having hallucinations and you are most decidedly not delusional, at least not so far as this Guardian business is concerned."

Not delusional? Well, certainly. She was just perfectly sane. Hah! Unfortunately, that statement made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Alanna looked up, way up, into the face of a stranger. "Of course I'm sick. I'm having visual and auditory hallucinations. You're one of them. Real people—especially tall, handsome, totally to die for men with hair the color of burnished copper, emerald eyes, and sexy British accents—do not simply appear in the middle of my living room. It's completely illogical."

Now, if there were two things that definitely did not go hand in hand together, it was logic and the Gods. Thomas' experiences told him reality simply did not work that way. The man sighed. "My dear Miss Shepherd, I assure you I am quite real and I am indeed here, in physical form, in your living room."

Alanna watched as the stranger paced off to her liquor cabinet where he proceeded to pour out a snifter of brandy.

He thrust a glass into her hand. "Here, drink this. Then I suggest you, as the youth are so fond of saying in this century, get a grip. It is time you come to terms with who and what you are."

Alanna polished the brandy off in one gulp, gasping as the fiery liquid burned its way down her throat. 'Wow!' she thought, 'Who knew hallucinations had flavor?' "I know who and what I am, you fancy figment of my fevered imagination. I'm Alanna Shepherd, 23. I reside in New York City and I'm a writer—a well-published writer-- with an extremely over-active imagination that is definitely susceptible to suggestion." She slammed the snifter on the coffee table, causing the crystal to ring out in protest.

Gods, the woman had a temper! "Have a care, Miss Shepherd. I do believe that snifter is Waterford."

Alanna carefully tipped the glass to peer at the maker's mark on the bottom. Waterford. Well, he certainly knew his glassware. Sheesh. Of all the men she could have imagined, her mind just had to create a snob. "Look, bud, I've had a crappy few days. I..."

He snorted. He had helped Old Man train other Guardians and it was always the same. Really, why in the world did it take so much effort to convince people of the truth? "My name is Thomas Smythe, Miss Shepherd, and I would prefer it if you called me by my given name and not by that silly diminutive." He settled on the arm of her chair. "Fortunately for you, I do indeed know exactly the kind of time you have been having. I went through a similar experience myself, precisely 150 years ago."

Alanna laughed out loud. Her imagination was really working overtime tonight. "Oh, sure. 150 years ago, huh? That would make you what, almost 200 years old? Please!" She shook her head. "You can't be more than 35." It really was too bad she had left her laptop in the bedroom. She could have put this conversation to good use this in her next book.

Thomas raised his eyes to the heavens, pleading with the Gods for patience. "Hmph. If you must know, Miss Shepherd, I am 185. And a half."

She rolled her eyes. Not only was her figment a bona-fide snob, he was also sensitive about his age. At the rapid rate her mind was moving into insanity, she would be able to rack up enough billable hours in a therapist's chair to put his or her kid through college. "Oh, boy. Look bud, er, Thomas, if you'll just go away, I'll call my doctor now and check myself into the closest hospital."

Her visitor snorted. "Woman, you sorely try my patience!"

The Wise Ones were right. Misery did indeed love company. "You see what I am up against, do you not Thomas?" Old Man asked.

Alanna looked over. Oh, goody-gumdrops. The crazy old man was back. Sitting nice and cozy in the easy chair next to her fireplace. Now they had enough people for a tea party—Mad Hatter style. "Wow." She drawled. "When did you pop back?"

Old Man pointed his finger at her. Her apparent need for incessant and nonsensical chatter would drive him to insanity. "Silence, woman!"

Figment or not, there was no way Alanna would let any anyone--especially a man--order her around like that. Not in this lifetime! Alanna opened her mouth, intending to tell the old man what he could do with himself, and discovered she no longer had a voice. 'What the hell?' she thought.

Thomas nodded his head thoughtfully. Silence was definitely golden. "Yes, Old Man. I do see." His jewel-like eyes narrowed as he focused his stare on Alanna. "Old Woman is certain? There is no question in her mind that Miss Shepherd is the Chosen One? She is the one who will battle the Dark One and save the universe?"

Old Man nodded. "Yes, Old Woman scryed the prophecy herself. There is no question Miss Shepherd is the Chosen One." He shook his head irritably, making his hair fly back and forth in unruly wisps. "Unfortunately."

Thomas rubbed his hand wearily across his face. Maybe Old Woman's eyes did not see as well as they used to. "And you are absolutely certain Miss Shepherd is my mate? There is no mistake in this?"

'Mate? Oh, as if!' Alanna shouted silently. This was 2006! Women did not have 'mates,' they had boyfriends, lovers, significant others or husbands. Assuming they hooked up with a man at all, that is.

Old Man silently cursed the day the Gods had chosen him to mentor future Guardians. "Young one, I said mate and I meant mate. Now cease your endless psychic blathering."

Damn! The old man had picked her thoughts directly from her brain. Again! That was just so totally creepy!

Old Man tossed a glare in her direction then returned his attention to Thomas. "Yes, boy. The God's foretold all of this in the prophecy they sent to Old Woman. When the Others chose this one to host the Tjurunga," he nodded to Alanna, "they had their reasons." His expression turned morose. "What those reasons were, exactly, I cannot even begin to imagine."

What? Was this crazy old man insulting her?!? Alanna raised her tawny eyebrows and waved her hands frantically, desperate for a chance to speak.

May the Gods help them! "Yes, yes, young one." Old Man muttered. "Speak if you must. But please, no more rambling. You make this old man's head ache with your nonsense."

Suddenly, Alanna had words and a voice to give them life. "Fine. Have it your way. I'm not crazy. But, you know what? You people are definitely off your rockers." She thrust a hand through her hair, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. "Guardians, Gods, Others, Dark Ones, prophecies? And now this 'mate' crap? Look, I may write fiction, but I don't—won't live in the middle of it."

Obviously, the time for talking was over. Thomas would evidently have to 'go that extra mile,' as they said and show this stubborn witch her new reality. He reached out a hand to grasp the totem hanging around Alanna's neck. "You have no choice in the matter, my dear Miss Shepherd. No choice at all."

"Hey, take your hands off my..." She gasped as the air between them grew thick. The edges of her vision faded as the world around her shifted. Alanna blinked. Her living room was gone. Completely gone!

She swiveled her head rapidly, attempting to take in as much of her new surroundings as she possibly could. All she could see were endless stretches of red sand. This simply was not possible! "Oh. My. Gods! What happened? Where are we?"

"What happened? We sifted through time and space into an alternate reality. Where are we? This, Alanna, this is the Dreaming."

'This' was becoming too much like a bad episode of the Twilight Zone. She raised a hand to grasp Thomas' where it lay against her chest, still wrapped around the totem. "Dreaming? How can I be dreaming? How can we be in the same dream."

Where was a dictionary when he needed one? Thomas sighed, pulling Alanna closer to him. "There is so much for you to learn and so little time in which you may learn it, my dear. We are not 'dreaming,' this is the Dreaming—specifically this is the well of creation. The place where the Tjurunga and the People came into being."

Alanna's red-gold brows drew together in a frown. "I don't understand."

Why were women always so desperate to understand things? Why on earth could they not simply accept things as they were? Thomas placed his hand upon her neck, stroking his thumb upwards towards her jaw. "Yes, I know this. Old Woman has given you the knowledge you need. Old Man has shared the story of the Tjilpa with you. But still you refuse to come willingly to understanding."

Alanna swallowed. The simple touch of Thomas' hand did crazy things to her system. Her pulse beat heavy in her throat and her breathing quickened measurably. She tried backing away from him slightly, but could not. His strong hands held her firmly in place against him.

Thomas sighed. "Hear me, Alanna. When the ancestors of the People, those Old Man and Old Woman refer to as 'The Others,' finished their creation, their spirits returned to the Earth in animal form to take up their role as protectors of the People. Each generation, the Others choose another Guardian—someone who will honor them, care for them, and assume the physical responsibility of Guardian. The totem, like the one you wear, is the vessel which carries the essence and enables the transfer." Thomas lowered his head to hers, placing his mouth next to her ear. "When Old Man placed the totem around your neck, the essence transferred itself to you. It now resides within you."

Some 'thing' had moved into her body? What on earth did Thomas mean? Goosebumps shivered down Alanna's spine. "Within me?" she squeaked.

Thomas raised a hand and Alanna watched transfixed as the outline of his fingers and palm blurred. "Within you, Alanna." The image before her sharpened, but it was no longer a human hand he held up in front of her. It was now a massive, tawny gold paw, complete with razor sharp claws. "As it does within me."

Holy crap! She had just jumped from Twilight Zone right into an episode of Ray Bradbury Theater. Alanna's eyes widened. "Oh, Gods. You're... you're some kind of shape-shifter. Some sort of were-cat!"