Totem Ch6: True Magic (Patreon)

My eyes snapped open.

For the brief span of time between one drone of the alarm horn and the next I thought that it might have been a messed-up dream. That I was still looking forward to my kick-ass totem. That it would be a bear or a wolf or something.

But my inner-eye showed me otherwise.

Something now occupied the space where the void-black hole had been. It was the image of a gosling curled up tight packed within. A baby bird ready to hatch.

The rim of light which represented the energy I'd been packing together for years was now its shell.

Oh yeah, and the alarm horns were still blowing.

The door opened and my father poked his shaggy head in. "Seth, get up. We need to get to a shelter."

I sat up. "Where's Mom?"

His face darkened, which was something to see considering the coarse black hair that covered it, aside from his beard. “Calling her sister alligators to guard the canals. She can take care of herself. C'mon, we need to get to go join the workers in the safe room."

That was one thing I had to get used to on this new planet. I'd always thought of myself as a not-sexist type of guy, but it still took me aback when Mom went out to fight and Dad stayed at home.

Here in this place, the totem meant more than gender roles. Mom’s totem had told her to protect the family, which she gladly took as fighting. Dad’s totem had told him to farm, which he took as building up the land and only resorting to violence as a last resort.

And now that I had a totem -- even one I wasn't sure how I felt about -- I could truly be part of that world.

I looked at my dad and said, "I was visited by my totem."

Dad looked like I'd just struck him upside the head. "What, now? I-- Son, that's amazing, but you need to tell me about it in the safe room."

"I'm not going there. My totem told me…” It told me to Be A Goose, which wasn’t exactly helpful right now. I looked at my dad. “I need to fight.”

I had a hard time reading the expression on my dad’s face other than it was conflicted. His religion, his entire way of life told him that once a child was visited by their totem -- they ceased to be a child. And that a totem's words were sacred, to be respected and followed.

He didn't want his only son to go out in the middle of an deformed incursion. But a lifetime of conditioning made him respect the will of the totem.

"Show me your sacred mark."

The first change someone experienced after getting their totem was called the sacred mark. Dad was pretty well covered with fur, but could point out his first patch, even now. Same with Mom and her arms covered by protective scales.

I looked down at my arms. 100% certified organic human. Not a pin feather to be seen. My totem had warned me about this.

"Uh..."

Dad's face darkened. Shit, he didn't believe me.

A peel of bells rang, underlining the fact that neither of us had time for this. The warped enemy was close. People would be getting in position to either flee, hunker down, or defend. Dad was in charge of not just me, but farm workers. They wouldn't be able to close the shelter without his power. He had worked this soil for years and held sway over it.

"Seth, are you coming or not?"

The question took me by surprise. He was giving me a choice?

"I'm not hiding," I said, standing. At that moment I hadn't felt so much like an adult since... well, I had been an adult.

Dad sighed. “Then we'll talk about this, after the incursion."

Then he gestured and the floor fell out from under me.

I knew I was screwed even before my feet hit the bottom. When had Dad dug a safe room under the floor of my bedroom? Then again, knowing it was Dad and how serious he took protecting all of us -- it had probably been there all along.

The second I landed, I made a leap for the lip of the well, but Dad was quicker. The floor reformed over my head, leaving me in the simplest of safe rooms -- a covered pit.

"You dick!" I hollered. "Let me out of here!"

My Dad's voice was too muffled by feet of dirt to catch the words. He sounded vaguely apologetic. My guess was he was promising to return and get me out as soon as the incursion was over.

He'd rather deal with an angry teenager than a dead teenager.

That damned caring, stubborn, son of a bitch.

Well, I wasn't a helpless kid anymore. I had power.

People didn't talk about their totem powers, and I wasn't exactly besties with the kids "my age". But I'd still been around them to hear gossip, and I could put two and two together.

The magical animal stuff came from the core.

Mentally, I reached inward.

The core still lay there with the serene curled up gosling. It was a well of power -- a fruit ripe for the squeezing.

Once I did that, power would gush out and, I assumed, magic would happen.

But... What had my goose totem told me? I could take from the gosling, or I could feed it? I grit my teeth.

The need to take the power I could feel laying there -- the power that I had wanted ever since coming to this world. Hell, the power that I had collected and nourished through years of meditation. It was mine. I’d collected it.

It was like spending years growing a fruit tree; trimming it, fertilizing it, weeding around the base and carrying water buckets up to make sure it never went dry... only to find out I could never eat the fruit.

I wanted that goose-fruit.

My terrible metaphor aside, I knew that if I took it that fruit would taste... well, like a goose. And it would turn me into one on the outside instead of the inside.

I guess.

"What happens if I feed it?" I asked myself. “Will it hatch and then bust me out of here? I don't want a pet..."

Except the goose was supposed to be me? On the inside?

Ugh, I hated navel-gazing. Time to decide: Instincts or ghost-goose advice?

"Fuck," I muttered and reached not for the very squeezable core but for the golden ring of power surrounding it like an eggshell.

The power was more malleable than it had ever been before. I broke off a thread of it and directed it, still spinning, inward to feed the sleeping goose.

The golden thread connected to its stomach a little like an umbilical cord. Power flowed to it from the surrounding ring inward. The gosling stirred and opened its eyes.

They were filled with flame.

And just like that I felt a trickle of the power return to me, but filtered through the gosling first.

It was hard to describe except that it felt purified and right.

And though I only got back a bare fraction of what I gave, the returned energy was potent.

Gooses were not meant to be underground.

Acting on instinct, I punched up toward the top of the pit. A rush of heat exploded up my arms and out my knuckles -- it was shaped vaguely with wings and a long-arrowed neck.

It blew the top of the pit away and I had to duck as gravel and bits of dirt rained down on me.

"Holy shit," I said in English because some curses still felt better that way.

Then I jumped up and caught the smoking ledge, hauling myself up into the remains of my room.

My dad was long gone -- knowing him, he was making sure the workers were in their safe rooms.

The warning bells were still clanging and over it, I heard howls.

I just done magic! My first magic! That meant...

I swiftly checked my arms, felt around my neck and my face for my first sacred mark. The proof that I was using bonafide totem magic. I expected a feather or two.

I couldn't find anything.

Huh. I guess my inner goose wasn't bullshitting.

No matter. The ring of power was still feeding the gosling and it was still filtering a tiny fraction of it back to me.

True magic, my totem had called it.

Well true or not, I'd been waiting for years: Time to find out what I could do.

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