Robert Charrette - Find your own truth

"I thought we were going to see Dog." "Not we. You. Dog's your totem, not mine, and you must find your own truth."

Sam felt vaguely betrayed. It was the first time he was going specifically to ask a favor of his totem. Howling Coyote must have done this thing often enough. Why didn't the shaman show him the ropes? "You're saying I have to go on alone."

A pipe materialized in the shaman's hand. He puffed on it and said nothing.

"If you're not coming with me to the otherworld, why did you bother coming this far?" "Thought I could use the exercise." Which was, of course, not the real reason, but Sam wasn't going to push it. This was probably some kind of test.

When he turned back to face the Dweller, Sam saw that the gnashing teeth had come closer while he talked to the shaman. Yet Sam had not moved. Months ago, such a minor displacement effect would have unnerved him. Now he just planted his feet, faced the clashing rock, and waited.

The tunnel had a voice that penetrated Sam's mind, like water seeping through porous rock. "Welcome again, Samuel Verner, Or do you prefer that I call you Twist?" "Twist will do."

"Fine, Sam. Stolen any good artifacts lately, or have you been too busy ignoring your sister's problem?"

Sam didn't want to listen to the Dweller's innuendo, half-truths, and petty revelations of Sam's secrets and desires. He was plenty able to castigate himself without any help from some astral presence. "Let me pass."

"Sure." The stone teeth yawned wide. "Go ahead."

Sam took a step forward and the rocks clashed together. "Oops. Too slow. " Once more the rock formations separated. "Try again."

The space encompassed by those teeth was too great to cross in a run before they could slam shut. But this was the astral world, and Sam knew other ways. Focusing his will he flew forward, whisking past the jagged rocks. They clashed behind him. "Catch you again sometime, shirker. " Sam ignored the Dweller's parting comment and shot down no, up the tunnel. He emerged in a sunlit land of green fields, rolling hills, gentle forests, and pleasant vales. Smoke rose from homey cottages nestled in some of the valleys. Despite all that there was no sign of people, but Sam was used to that. He walked now because it seemed more appropriate, and appropriateness was paramount in the totem realm. He headed down the dirt road that led away over the hills.

Sam crossed three hills, each more difficult to Climb than the last. He sensed that the fatigue he felt was due to more than the walking. By the time he reached the base of the fourth hill, he was almost exhausted. It was as though he'd been running for several kilometers, but he remembered only having walked along the road. Somehow he knew that more than a walk through the countryside had happened, but he had no memory of it. Determined to persevere, he started up the next hill. Dog was waiting for him on the crest. The totem was wearing his usual shape, a brindled mutt. His tail swept the dust, but he did not leap up or even stand at Sam's approach.

"I would like to speak with you," Sam said.

Dog turned his head away, seeming to make a scent inspection of a small weed growing near his side. "What makes you think I want to talk to you?"

"I need guidance."

Dog's head snapped up to look at Sam. The totem wore a canine grin. "That's for sure. How can I resist such blinding honesty? What do you want to talk about?"

There were many things, some very pressing, but Sam decided to start with what bothered him most. For all Howling Coyote's lessons the old shaman had never related a conversation with Coyote. Lots of proverbs concerning the totem, tales of the totem's doings, and confident assertions of the totem's demands, but never any words. "Maybe you'd like to tell me why you talk to me?"

"You sure that I do?"

Once, doubting the reality of totems, Sam hadn't been. He had thought that totems were merely psychological constructs through which a shaman organized his thoughts for magic, that they had no independent existence. He still wasn't completely convinced that totems were thinking entities in their own right, but he could no longer deny all evidence of that. Thus, he had accepted the necessity of dealing with the being sitting before him as though Dog were an independent entity. '' Yes, I 'm sure.''

"Well, that's something." Dog cocked his head and observed Sam. "You're not a very good follower, you know. Don't pay anywhere near enough attention. Dogs like attention, you know."

"I know." Sam had raised enough real dogs to know that very well. "Sorry."

Dog stood up. "Come on, let's go for a run."

Dog didn't wait for Sam to answer. Sam trotted after him. When he caught up, Dog broke into a run. Holding back his questions Sam ran, too.

It seemed that Dog had nothing more on his mind than exercise. Sam, however, had too much on his mind. After they had been running for what seemed a long time, he panted out a question. "Do we have time for this?" "There is no time as you know it here. So I guess we got plenty. Or none at all. Take your pick." "I'll take plenty. I've got too much to do." "True enough."

Dog stopped, and Sam ran for a few more meters. He stopped, catching his breath, and walked over to join Dog. The totem appeared unwinded. "Need to build up your stamina." "I'm working on it," Sam said. "Work harder. It's a crime not to use what you have."

"And what's that?" "Magic, man. It's hi your blood." "I don't really like the idea." "Nobody said you had to, but that don't change anything." Dog sauntered over to a fence post, lifted a leg, and marked it. "Magic is my territory, man. You wouldn't be here if it wasn't yours, too." Dog inclined his head toward the fence post. "Want to make your mark?"

Sam shook his head. "No thanks. I went before I left the mundane."

Though a dog's shoulders aren't built to shrug, Dog managed one. Then he trotted over to the other side of the road and sat down where he could look out over the valley. Sam joined him and sat by his side. Neither said anything for a while. Then Dog stood and

"You think the only magic is flash, mirrors, and fireworks?" "Well, no."

"Good." Dog nodded his head once. "Magic is life, man. Some of your kind say it's all just a song and dance. Are they ever wrong! And right, too, which is the point. You start singing the song before you speak your first word, and dance the steps even after your flesh stops moving. Wise up and smell the world around you. It's marked by magic."

"I know," Sam said at last. "IVe come to see that I have no choice but to use my magic. My magic. But that magic is tied to you, Dog. I came looking for help."

"Help? Or advice?" "Well, both."

"Sure you don't want power, too?" "Well, yes, that too." No point in putting it off. "I came to learn the secret of the Great Ghost Dance." "What makes you think it's only got one secret?" ' 'If there's more than one, I want to learn them all." "Pretty ambitious for a pup. You have any idea what you're asking?"

Sam knew what he wanted to do with the magic, but Howling Coyote hadn't really told him much about how the Dance worked. "Not really."

Dog sniffed at the grass at his side. "Magic, the world, and life stick together tighter than a burr in fur," he said finally. "The Dance is part of those connections, and all of them. You can't have one without the other. You sure you want to do this thing?" "No."

"Good answer. We sure are being honest today." Dog barked a laugh. "But want to or not, you still gotta." "Why?"

"Thought you learned to believe in me." "I have."

"That's why you gotta. I to Dog and you're Dog, man." Dog placed a paw on Sam's leg and stared him hi the eye. "Dog is friend to Man, a guardian totem to protect him from evil. I don't see the web-spinner as being real healthy for man, do you?" " "No."