August 14, 1935:

        Luke sniffed, twitched, and sneezed violently, rolling over on his stomach and wondering why the base of his tail hurt so badly.  Another twitch and he sneezed again as Mother Jezebel asked, “You awake now, Luke?” 
        “I – ahchoo! – think so,” the otter said as he slowly sat up.  A wan light was starting to come in the window.  Morning, already?  “What – what happened?”
        The badger laughed.  “Why, you poor child, you passed out dead away when you saw your daughter.”  She smirked as she drew on her shawl.  “If you’re finished with your nap, you might want to talk to Linda.  I’ll let myself out,” and she left the room, muttering under her breath about “these young folks today.”
        Luke stood and took a few deep breaths as his head spun a bit.  Linda was lying in bed, her head propped up with extra pillows, and she held a small bundle wrapped in a blanket close to her breast.
        She smiled up at him.  “Come and see, Luke.  Isn’t she beautiful?”  He walked around the bed and crouched down beside his wife, gently easing aside a corner of the blanket.         
        The baby’s fur was still a bit damp from having been washed, but it seemed healthy.  Luke ran a gentle finger over its tiny cheeks and the child blinked up at her father.
        He couldn’t explain why, but he had the silliest grin on his face and it refused to go away as he said, “Hello, little one,” he said softly.  He leaned in closer and kissed the child’s forehead, then kissed Linda.  “Are you feeling okay?” he asked.
        “Tired,” she replied.  “No, more than that; I feel like I’ve been run through the mangle twice,” and she grinned wearily.  “What did we decide to name her?  I can’t remember offpaw.”
        “Oh.  Ah,” he said as he thought.  “Right.  We were going to name her after my grandfather if it was a boy, and your grandmother if it was a girl.”  He grinned again.  “So, since it’s a girl – and a beautiful one at that – her name is Eloise.”
        Linda smiled and kissed the now-sleeping baby.  “Eloise,” she whispered as she finally lost her battle to stay awake. 


        The phone started ringing and a paw reached out, missed it, fumbled for it and finally grabbed the pawset and lifted it off the cradle.  It was carried to the bobcat’s ear as he grumbled, “Yeah, what?”
        One eye opened and he said, “Oh, hello Luke.  It’s early . . . what?  Linda had her baby?  That’s marvelous news, Luke . . . ah, so that’s why you’re calling . . . sure, sure, we can look after things until then, yes . . . that’s right, Tom said noon – you’ll be there, of course . . . okay, goodbye,” and Pete reached out and replaced the pawset as he went back to sleep.
        He woke up swearing as the alarm clock went off not ten minutes later.


1150:

        “I still do not understand what this is for,” Sarkozy said, eyeing the small sweat lodge dubiously.  The fox, now bathed and the gray dye washed out of his fur, stood still while Circling Eagle took the pawcuffs off.  He then crossed himself, his tail swishing agitatedly.
        “It’s the only way we can verify your story,” Luke said.  He looked tired, despite getting several hours sleep.  Linda had assured him that she was fine and feeling well enough to look after herself and little Eloise.  Mother Jezebel would likely show up to make sure that everything was going well.
        Luke had arrived at the station house to be greeted with backslaps and congratulations on the new baby.  “You do want your story verified, don’t you?”
        “Of course,” Sarkozy said.  “But in a court, not this – this heathen thing, sweat lodge, you call it.”
        Thomas Windsong drew close to the fox, who shrank back a little.  “If I don’t learn the truth, little fellow, not all the judges in Rain Island will believe a word you say.  They’ll give you to the Canadians with no questions asked,” he said in a calm tone.  “Now, do you want to take your chances with them, or step inside?”
        Sarkozy gulped, and nodded.  Windsong said, “Luke?  I think we’re ready.”
        “Right, Doc.”  Out of deference to Sarkozy’s sense of modesty, the two were wearing loincloths.  The horse and the otter grasped the fox’s arms and escorted him into the small domed tent.  The flap was closed, and Pete and Jack sat down to watch.
        Jack sipped at a glass of water and asked, “Ever done this before, Pete?”
        Circling Eagle nodded.  “Few years back, when my folks decided I was old enough.  You?”
        “Once.  Part of Mother Hanakan’s class.  Never did see anything, though,” the fox said.
        Inside the lodge the temperature rose and Sarkozy’s shirt quickly grew damp with sweat.  Windsong chanted softly while Luke spoke quietly with the Hungarian, keeping him calm and centered.  When he judged the time right, he took Sarkozy’s paw and closed his eyes.

        The World wavered, and fled.
        All three of them stood in a clearing in what appeared to be a vast forest, clouds scudding past in a stiff breeze against a faultlessly blue sky.  From Luke’s perspective, Tom was a bare flickering outline – he was just observing for the record.
        The Bear came.
        “You have brought him,” It said, and Luke knew It meant Windsong.
        “It’s necessary, and you know it,” Luke said.  “Is what Sarkozy has said true?  That he is running from evil?”
        “Yes,” the Bear said.  A raven perched on a tree branch by Its head.  “He has been led to this place.”
        Luke nodded.  “He is pursued.”
        “Yes.”
        “And he has done nothing wrong.”
        “Yes.”
        The outline of Windsong flickered and vanished as he awoke from the trance, leaving Luke and Sarkozy.
        “Why me?” Luke asked.  “Why come to me with this?”
        “Do not dispute a calling,” and the Bear departed, the raven flying after It.

        “Luke?  Luke?”
        He opened his eyes, blinking stinging salt sweat away as he looked over at the horse.  “Yeah, Doc?”
        “I found out what I needed to know.  Let’s get out of here,” and he gestured at Sarkozy, who appeared to be suffering from the heat.  His tongue was lolling out and he was panting hard.
        They carried him out into the shade of a large oak tree and deposited him in a chair.  Luke set about putting out the fire as Pete asked Windsong, “Well, Doc?”
        “He’s telling the truth,” the horse said, “and I’ll report that under oath to the magistrate.”
        “Just great,” Pete growled.  “Luke, when you get dressed you and Jack take Sarkozy back to Doc Travers’ place.  The magistrate’s supposed to be here in the morning.”
        “Right, Pete,” the otter said as he pulled on his shirt.
        Sarkozy was slumped in the chair, drinking a glass of water when Luke walked up to him.  “So, you are convinced now, yes?”
        “Yes, we are.  Jack and I will take you back to the doctor’s home now, so you can relax.  The magistrate will be here tomorrow.”
        “Magistrate?  But I – you saw the truth, did you not?”
        “Yeah, he did,” Jack said as he pulled his pawcuffs from a back pocket, “but until the shaman talks to him you’re still on the hook.  Now, come on and let’s go.”
        The smaller fox looked like he still wanted to argue, but he meekly submitted to being restrained and Jack led him away.  Luke walked over to Windsong and said, “Tom?  Did you get everything the Bear said?”
        The horse shrugged.  “As soon as I heard what I needed to, I left,” he said.  “Why?”
        Luke recounted what the Bear had said to him, and the shaman whistled.  “You’re called, Luke.  Nothing you can do about it.”
        “But with Linda and the baby – I won’t have the time – “
        “Sure you will,” Thomas said.  “I’ll square it with Pete and train you myself, if you’ll have me that is.”
        The otter looked unhappily down at his shoes for a moment, then back up at the horse.  “If the Bear really wants me, he can make my life miserable, can’t he?”
        “Not as bad as Coyote, but . . . ,” and Windsong let his voice trail off significantly.
        “Okay, okay, I get the picture,” Luke said.  “I’ll have to tell Linda.  She might like the idea, since one of her uncles is a shaman up in Winslow.”
        “Keep an open mind, Luke,” Windsong said, and the otter walked off to join up with his partner.


        “A shaman?” Linda asked when Luke finished explaining things to her that evening.  “So that’s what this was all about – the Bear wanted you to be a shaman?”
        “Looks that way.  He said it was a ‘calling,’” Luke replied as he slid two fried salmon cakes out of the skillet and onto plates already laden with vegetables.  Bread and butter sat nearby on the table, and little Eloise was asleep in her cradle.
        “That’s how Uncle Jim became one, you know.”  She kissed him as he served her and he went to sit down as she started to eat.
        “You told me.”  He buttered a slice of bread before adding, “But I worry that it’ll take too much time away from you and Eloise, not to mention work.”
        “I’m sure you and Pete will work something out, love,” Linda said, reaching across the table to grasp her husband’s paw.  He gave it an answering squeeze, then leaned over and kissed her paw before smiling at her.


August 14, 1935
2030:

        “Doc!  Hey, Doc!  Open up!”  The shout and the repeated hammering on the door caused a light to come on in the house.  The door opened as the porch light came on, revealing a rather rumpled looking red squirrel in a threadbare bathrobe, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.  “Doug?” the squirrel asked, fishing his glasses out of a pocket and putting them on.  “What’s going on?”
        The fox looked frantic, supporting the weight of a slightly larger lynx.  The feline groaned and wheezed as Doug said, “I don’t know what the hell he drank, but he started puking and now he’s having trouble breathing.”  He looked at the squirrel.  “Help me, please?”
        “Of course, of course,” the squirrel said as he stood aside to let them pass.  “The surgery’s through there, to your left . . . now, where did I put my poison manual . . . ah,” and he pulled a thick book out of the bookcase in the hallway and followed the pair.
        Sarkozy poked his head out of the guest bedroom and gave the doctor a questioning look as Travers entered the surgery.  “Now, young man, let’s have a look at you.  What was he drinking, Doug?”
        The sounds that followed made the short fox’s blood run cold; a harsh thump, followed the heavy sound of someone slumping to the floor.  Then voices.
        “Did you kill him?”
        “What, with this?  He’ll just be out for a while.  Let’s go.”
        Sarkozy started dressing as fast as he could, fumbling around in the dark.  He froze as the light came on in the room, and saw a burly lynx framed in the doorway.
        Bob grinned at him.
        “Doctor Sarkozy, I presume?”



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