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Chapter 29
“Transformation?” I wondered. “You mean, with the earrings?”
Pyll nodded. “Sure do. If you can conjure a more impressive morph then I, we will leave you in peace, reveal the totem, and send you on your way. Are you ready?”
Whoa! So soon? What could I use that would knock the socks off this crowd?
Scrab.
I quickly called Nine, the young mudokon who accepted my Flash power. {Hey ... hey, Nine ... busy?}
I sensed he was mid-meal, but he didn’t seem to mind. {Not at all, Mr. Dante. Can I help you?}
{You sure can. I need the scrab power. I’m in a contest that might mean my life.}
Nine seemed amused. {This makes it the second time I’ve had to save your rear, Dante. You got it.}
I thanked him and turned my attention to Pyll. “Ready when you are.”
We clasped our hands together at the same time, and each began to chant. He slipped quickly into an intern body, which I only recognized by pictures I had seen on screens in Tastee Treets’ marketing department.
Ha! A scrab was way cooler than an Intern. I was in.
And the crowd looked amazed, too. It was clear who was the victor.
However, Pyll had other plans. He spoke, and I learned why interns have their mouths stitched shut: their voices are loud and annoying. “Now, judge, friends! Choose your loving, caring, powerful leader ... or this lowly mud who waltzed stupidly into our village.”
Gee, way to work the crowd. The scrab in me wanted desperately to maul this guy, but that would be no good, sacred beast or not. The crowd would fall on me and take me down shortly.
The crowd paused, and almost as one, cheered for Pyll the “Intern.”
Pyll looked at me, a grotesque intern grin on his elongated face. “Looks as though I win,” he was gloating, but I wasn’t listening.
{Patch? Am I interrupting?}
Silence. Guess not. {Not really. I’m playing some catch. Need something?}
{Paramite morph, please. I’m in a hurry.}
Inner sigh. {Okay, Dante. I don’t know what you’re up to, but be careful.}
I returned to my own body, and Pyll laughed in his intern voice--a loud, grating, unbearable sound.
“Hang on,” I called, making sure I was heard. “I have a few more.”
Pyll stiffened. He probably didn’t expect this.
I chanted again, and quickly slid into the body of the paramite.
An awed silence fell over the crowd. Everyone began ooh-ing, ahh-ing, and applauding.
Pyll called out to them. “This is impressive, friends,” he admits, and I have time to think Booya! before he goes on: “But! Are we forgetting the might of the wild Intern?”
There was a confused silence. The paramite mind afforded me with sketchy visions of confused and unsure mudokon faces.
Amazingly, they began to cheer for Pyll all over again!
{ALTUS!} I cried without preamble, returning to my mudokon body as I did so. {I need the slig body, and quick!}
Altus’ eager-to-please-Dante emotions filled my head, and I knew he had done it. {There you go, man! I don’t know what you’re doing, but sock it to ‘em!}
I chanted and fell over, now in the body of a pantless slig.
This was simply lame, and the crowd needed no coaxing to cheer for Pyll.
What to do? All I had left was the slog morph, and I hadn’t even tried that yet--
Hey, wait.
Every time I morph something new, my body seems to have to adjust to being in it, so it goes a lot slower. The physical changes are more pronounced ... so maybe a slog wouldn’t win them over, but they way I became the slog might!
{Aaron?} I asked, trying to sound unexcited. {Aaron, you there?}
I realized how dumb that question was at the same moment he answered. {Where else would I be, buddy?}
Inner eye-roll. {Right, right. Can you hook me up with a slog morph?}
Aaron obviously had the same feelings I did about the relative uselessness of becoming a slog. But, he agreed. I thanked him and began to chant.
Pyll and the others fell into total silence as I began.
The first thing to change was my skin. It wrinkled and tightened and slowly turned pink. My jaw became quite prominent, and it soon became a large, bucket-like cavity that covered my upper lip. My eyes closed and disappeared into my head, which in turn began to shrink. My head was now mostly mouth and partly brain and skull.
My kneecaps vanished, and my legs reversed direction, bending the other way. My feet began jagged and misshapen, turning into the feet of a slog. My thighs thickened to help compensate for the balance I would lose when my arms went. And, shortly thereafter, my arms began to shrivel and waste away.
My stomach changed, and was ready to digest anything. My brain became simple, as with other wild, non-sentient animals: eat, sleep, Dante. my other organs had changed all along to accommodate the smaller body.
And it was done. I was a slog.
There was a terrifying moment where I thought I had failed to impress.
And then ...
Cheers like you wouldn’t believe! I never imagined that fifty people could make so much noise. It was an incredible rush.
And Pyll couldn’t be heard. He wasn’t turning anyone against that.
Pyll sighed and returned to his natural form, increasing the cheers. This was a sure sign of my victory, so I followed his example.
Pyll bowed in submission. “If you’ll allow me, Dante, I’ll lead you to the totem. Follow me.”
I shrugged. “Okay.”
He led me about half a mile out of the village, and there it was. The totem resembled an intern, arms raised in some kind of victorious pose. It’s wide mouth was poised in that hideous grin; it was shaped almost like the number 8 turned on it’s side, but was a gaping hole lined with little needlepoint teeth.
I removed the earring and reluctantly placed it into the intern’s mouth. There was a dull flash, and it was done.
Pyll, without hesitation, stuck his hand in next, and grunted in pain as the letter N -- N for Ned the Intern, I thought -- was tattooed there, inside a crude intern-shaped drawing.
I wasn’t entirely shocked by this ... but it wasn’t unexpected, either.
“Now, Dante, you and I are bound for life. It is my hope you succeed in your voyage. If time permits, and you have the means, do not hesitate to visit us. We will welcome you much more warmly if you return.”
I nodded, knowing I would do no such thing. But it couldn’t hurt to be diplomatic, could it?
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