User:Posti/Taken
Taken
Calamity Jane was not handling the pressures of her first public outing very well. Despite hobbled forelegs and blinders, she kicked and bucked as best she could, pausing every now and then to let out a plaintive bray. Eric edged between the young mule and the trailer she was tethered to, keeping a watchful eye on her front hooves. She snuffled at his extended hand and immediately calmed down.
“It’s all right, girl.” He slipped an arm around the animal’s neck and started rubbing just behind her left ear. This was his ninth or tenth visit, partly because he enjoyed the jenny’s affection, and partly due to guilt. Her owner had stuck on the blinders after Eric mentioned she had been bucking. On the plus side, she seemed to be genuinely content when he was with her, pulling lightly at the skin of his free arm with her lips and rubbing her cheek against his shoulder.
Not that he wasn’t enjoying her company as well – in truth, he was just as content to stand here with her as she was to receive his attentions. That in itself was surprising, give his normal preference for donkeys. The draft horse and mule show participant’s including everything from a glossy black Shire gelding down to a miniature jackass. He had his pick of equines to scritch, yet he found himself returning to this gawky-looking jenny every time he wandered back to the staging area.
Perhaps he was being unfair. Part of Calamity’s scrawny appearance came from her youth, and mules always looked a bit coarse-featured when compared to the donkeys and horses they were related to. However, her dark chocolate coat shone in the afternoon sun, unblemished and soft as velvet. Eric grinned to himself as he stroked her neck. The mule probably thought he was a pretty scrawny specimen as well, at least in comparison to her huge, potbellied owner.
Homer Fergesun looked like Santa Claus in coveralls, complete with the long white beard and rosy cheeks. The man had been struggling to get his two older mules harnessed up for the plowing competitions, and was extremely grateful when Eric stepped in to hold one. The kid who usually helped was home assisting his late mother’s favorite jenny deliver a foal. As uncommon as mule births were, Fergusen said he’d been tempted to skip today’s show himself just to watch. And that would have been a shame, as Eric would not have had the chance to meet the affectionate mule he was now babysitting.
A tinny voice echoed over the field, announcing the next team in the cultivator event. Calamity’s stable mates would be participating in that, and he wanted to see the mules in action. “Sorry, girl. I have to go now. Try to behave.” He started to ease out from between the animal and the trailer, only to have the mule shift to block his path. More amused than annoyed, Eric pushed at her gently. “I’ll come back. I just want to see your step brother and sister working, OK?” Calamity raised her head, bringing one enormous brown eye so close to his that the long lashes underneath tickled his face. The velvety black hide of her muzzle brushed his mouth, and he lipped it gently, feeling a little silly but enjoying the sensation.
An abrupt fatigue hit him, causing sight and sound to flicker momentarily. Alarmed, he shook his head, only partly clearing the strange fogginess. He squeezed past the jenny and sat heavily in the trailer’s open storage bay doorway. This was not a good place to pass out – he was alone except for Calamity and a Haflinger gelding tied to the back of a black Ford pickup.
Could it be some sort of flu bug? It didn’t seem warm enough to cause heat stroke, but he hadn’t had anything to drink this morning. Eric was relieved to realize that the sensation was passing quickly. There was shade over by the competition area. He’d grab a cold drink and relax a while. However, as soon as he stood up and started to walk away, Calamity began kicking and braying in protest.
He shook his head and turned back to face her. The animal stopped her temper tantrum instantly, and fixed him with the most soulful stare he’d ever seen. It was such a masterful performance that he had to laugh. “I’m just gonna go get something to drink, OK? Besides I can’t spend the whole show scritching one lonely…” A second wave of dizziness cut him off, this time shutting down consciousness before he hit the ground.
Awareness crept in slowly, forcing Eric from warm, pleasant slumber. Why did he have to get up? Was it a workday? He teetered on the edge of waking, and then drifted back into the blissful darkness. Before he completely succumbed, a strange jostling roused him again. This time, annoyance brought him out of his stupor, only to be replaced with bewilderment. Something was wrapped around him - all around him. Opening his eyes did nothing to alleviate the total darkness. A rhythmic pounding filled his ears, and pulsed through his body. Pressure all around, squeezing him forward. He wanted to struggle, to tear free of this strange prison, but he couldn’t remember how to use his hands and arms.
That was crazy. You don’t forget how to move your fingers. Eric tried to focus his thoughts, battling a growing barrage of confusing sensations. The world was closing in. He could feel his arms now, unfolding suddenly as they slipped into an opening ahead of him. Another squeeze, this one forcing his head and shoulders into what seemed to be a thick, flexible tube. He tried to grab at the sides, but his hands refused to respond.
A flash of panic as his lungs tried to suck air through blocked nostrils. Another constriction forcing him forward. Hands grabbed his wrists and pulled. He slid out of the confinement into brightness and cold, and open air. Fingers cleared his nose and he convulsed suddenly, this time filling an aching chest with oxygen. Dark, blurred shapes hovered over him, and he could feel hands gently wiping liquid from his face and neck. The air was thick with odors, and a blur of noise began to clear into voices. Why couldn’t he understand the words?
Before he could process any of this, Eric was overwhelmed by a need to rise, to stand. He flopped on the ground weakly, trying to work muscles that were somehow short-circuited. The hands returned, slipping under his head and side to help him rise. He pushed up with his arms, trying to sit up, and fell over on his side. The urgency redoubled, becoming near panic. He had to get up. Now. A second attempt to stand ended up with him teetering on splayed-out arms and legs. Was he kneeling? It didn’t feel like kneeling.
The urgency shifted focus now, concentrating on one of the scents that filled his nostrils. It came from a large, dark shape close by. Giving a shrill cry, he staggered towards the shape, knowing he had to reach it, but not why. As he approached, a long muzzle dropped down to snuffle at him. He drew in the warm breath, finding comfort in the scent it carried. Lips pulled gently at his neck, and then the massive snout dropped down until a huge brown eye was level with his. Eric had a flicker of recognition. Calamity Jane. Then absolute, primal hunger pushed aside all other thoughts.
What a weird dream. Eric woke in the half-light of early morning, confused first by his distorted vision, and then by the strange surroundings. A huge dark mule stood over him, with coarse wooden walls ahead and to both sides. He could see this all at once, though the wall directly ahead was blurred and indistinct. All peripheral vision, not quite meeting in the center. Everything was slightly unfocused, and looked oddly out of proportion. The first pricklings of fear began to grow as he slowly swung his head around to bring his own body into view.
Stick legs covered with dark fur, ending in pale, gray-brown hooves. Four legs. No arms, no hands. They were attached to an equally furred equine body, obviously that of a newborn foal. Eric mulled this over, trying to find some explanation other than the impossible conclusion that kept trying to assert itself. He was an animal. A baby mule, assuming he was sharing the stall with his dam. Ridiculous, of course. Humans didn’t just turn into foals. This had to be some sort of very intense dream.
He was willing to accept that explanation for now, though the uneasiness wouldn’t quite go away. Taken as a dream, this was sort of interesting. His imagined animal senses were pretty realistic. The sensations of straw under his belly muted by the fur of his dreamed body, the pull of muscles in his neck and rump. A rich mix of odors filled his nostrils, fresh hay and wood mingled with the comforting stink of urine, dung, and sweat. That was a curious way to think. The strongest came from the mare next to him, with similar but still unique smells that identified him. Both sets of odors were reassuring, somehow.
Noises. His ears flicked forward automatically, and a sense of danger flashed through his mind. The jenny seemed calm, stepping to a lower wall that might be the stall gate. If she was not alarmed, there was no danger.
Where had that thought come from? Eric pushed uneasiness back again, and struggled to stand. He was curious about the source of the sounds. Occasional thumps and bangs, shuffling. A voice, vaguely familiar, making sounds that blurred in his head just enough to keep him from understanding them. It didn’t sound like a foreign language. Concentrating hard, he finally focused the noises into words. Two men, talking about the weather. Getting closer.
There was a clicking noise, and then the gate swung open to reveal a huge bearded man who looked down at him with a grin. Eric knew that face – it was Calamity Jane’s owner. Homer Fergusen. “Up and about, Miss Mary?” He called back over his shoulder. “You gotta see this foal, Frank. She’s the spitting image of her momma.”
Miss Mary? MISS Mary? Eric twisted around suddenly, dropping his head and shaking his rump. Her rump. That explained why his scent and the mule’s were so close. Why was he dreaming about being a female? Or a pot-bellied, bearded old guy who stank of sweat, cigarette smoke, and a half-dozen chemical odors?
Another face appeared over the gate, this one unfamiliar. It belonged to a blonde kid, maybe twenty wearing a faded red plaid shirt. He grinned and shook his head. “She’s a pretty one, all right. Did you ever figure out who the father might be?”
“Not a clue. Hell, I didn’t even realize Calamity was pregnant until a few months ago.” Fergusen snorted. “Best I can tell, she hasn’t been around any males other than Jack, and he sure couldn’t do anything. Doc Wyatt says it happened sometime back last April or May. All I can figure is that one of the horses or donkeys at the Field Day got loose and jumped her while she was tied up to the trailer.”
“The one I missed when Louise had her foal?” The kid frowned. “That was the show where that fella died, right? The one who’d been keeping tabs on Calamity.”
The bearded man sighed as he reached down and picked up a bucket. “That was a real mess, wasn’t it? Damn! Guess some lucky stud took advantage of all the commotion to snatch himself a piece of ass.” There was a pause, and then both men laughed at his unintentional pun.
The humor was lost on Eric, who felt a sudden chill in his gut. This dream was taking a very ugly turn, and he wanted to wake up now. Concentrating hard, he willed himself to break out of what was starting to become a nightmare.
Fergusen came dumped the pail of water into another bucket hanging from the stall corner. Calamity nuzzled his arm, and then brayed loudly. The man patted her side. “Yeah, girl. Dinner is coming. Give me a minute, OK?” Then he dropped his hand in front of Eric’s nostrils and then stroked his neck. “You’re a mystery, aren’t cha’ girl? Just like your momma.”
“That’s right!” The younger man grinned. “Caleb always swore his stud didn’t jump the fence. You know, we should try that DNA testing. I got five bucks that says you’re the father!”
“Screw you, too, Frank!” Fergusen tossed the empty bucket, narrowly missing the other man’s head. “Anyway, Calamity is a Hell of a sight prettier than that girl you was out with last week! Not to mention smarter, considering she was willing to go anywhere with a dog-ass ugly punk like you.”
The two men continued their bantering as Fergusen secured the gate and continued to the next stall, but Eric tuned them out. Fergusen’s touch was gentle, the smell of his flesh not unpleasant. Yet the contact had been like a hard slap to the face. It was the subtleties of texture, the way Eric’s ears had picked up vocal tones in the men’s voices, his own reaction to being touched. The chill in his belly became an icy hand that clamped around his chest, making it hard to breathe. This was real.
He backed into the corner, eyes wide and legs trembling. Calamity must have sensed his fear, shifting around to nuzzle him gently. This time, however, her touch made him flinch. He was desperate to deny what his mind now told him was no dream, no hallucination. It was impossible! Confusion and disbelief put his mind in a spin, and he couldn’t find an anchor. No hands, no feet, no voice - he wasn’t even male anymore!
Calamity shifted again, pressing against him and using her muzzle to push his head against her side. Her scent filled his nostrils, and he felt part of his mind embracing her presence. It was almost separate, almost alien, yet part of him. The mind of a foal nearly smothered by his fears and confusion. It was reaching out to the warm, comforting scent of the jenny. He breathed in deep, feeling a cleansing breeze that gently wafted through his thoughts and memories. So many of them were withered and dry, like leaves in the Fall. Each intake of Calamity’s heady odor seemed to clear more of the dead foliage, revealing the bright, feathery buds of new growth. Once the old leaves were gone, there would be no more confusion, no reason to fear. Only the new thoughts, the instincts. Only the foal.
[Is that what you want, little one?]
The question startled Eric from his stupor, for the words had not been picked up with his ears. In truth, they were not words even, more impressions that he somehow interpreted as words. He looked up at the jenny. Was this some weird telepathic bond between mother and child?
[No, not with her. We all share a common bloodline, but only you and I here can link mentally. At least, as long as you do not surrender your past. Once that is done, you will be a foal in all respects.]
[I am not a mule!] Eric raged at the unknown presence, wondering if it was yet another manifestation of insanity.
[Yes, little one. You are. A very special kind of mule, but a mule nonetheless.] There was an impression of sadness. [Your human shell died the moment Calamity took you.]
[What are you talking about?] Eric gave a frustrated squeal.
[It is the way we multiply. Our wombs are active only a few times in our lives, usually when we are in our mid-years. When an egg forms, it calls for a soul. We seek that soul within those we have bonded with. If a suitable soul is found, it is taken from the old physical shell and implanted in the egg.]
{What? You mean every mule used to be a human? That would be impossible!]
The presence seemed to smile. {No. Only those born of mules. Humans are usually taken because they have the most frequent contact. However, any creature that connects with a mule can be brought to the womb. Calamity was an old barn cat that used to sleep on my back. Her link with us is empathic, sharing the emotional bonds. Only former humans retain the ability for higher communication.]
Eric struggled to understand, finding that the foal thoughts were beginning to interfere with his comprehension. [You used to be human?]
[Many years ago. My wife had died a few years before, and the kids were all gone. Sarah Jane, my mule, sensed my loneliness and took me to become her foal. I have been grateful for that kindness.]
[Kindness?] Eric was incredulous. [You call this kindness? Calamity took my life away!]
[Your life is no less valid as a mule. Just different. And Calamity chose you because she felt both the bond with you, and because her instincts told her you were willing.]
[I never wanted to be a… ] Eric caught himself in mid-thought. While he didn’t remember any desire to become a mule, he had certainly entertained thoughts of what life would be like as an equine. Idle speculation about wandering through grassy fields as a jackass or stallion. And there had been all those visits with Calamity, enjoying the feel of her lips on his arm, the pleasant sense of companionship. Perhaps there had been some stray thought over what it would be like to be her herd mate. No, more than that. He had felt a connection with the animal, contentment just standing there with her. To her, that same sense of belonging might have been enough to mark him as a mule in her mind. [OK, maybe I did think about it a little bit. That was just daydreaming!]
[It matters not, little one. You are a mule now, and shall remain one for the rest of this life. You must accept that.]
Eric pondered that. Accept being stuck as an animal? His initial shock was fading, and even though he was still bewildered by events, he also felt a growing fascination. Living life as a different creature. Was he really upset about being a mule? Scared silly, definitely. He had often wondered what it might be like to be a horse or donkey. However, there was a big difference between idle speculation and cold reality. [If there is no way to become human again, what use is my past? Don’t you get frustrated being treated as an animal?]
[Life was difficult at first. Sarah Jane had been a young child when she was taken, and lacked the life experience to guide me.
However, I met others who taught me, as I will teach you - IF you choose to retain your past. I can feel the battle raging in your mind. You have to choose quickly – the foal grows stronger each moment you hesitate. The human identity must be fought for. Once you give it up, it is lost forever.]
What did he want? The foal thoughts were intense, pure. Curiosity, energy, an empty vessel thirsty to fill itself with scents and sounds, tastes and textures. In some ways, hanging on to his human self would cheat him of the chance for a second childhood. The fears and doubts of a lifetime on two legs would taint this new beginning, and a mule had no practical use for driving or computer skills.
Yet he could not accept the loss of memory, either. Doing so would negate his human life, erase the experience that had made him who he was. As much as he would like to experience life with the foal’s fresh perspective, he would not willingly give up his identity. So there was really no choice to be made.
[I can’t lose my past.]
[There are more than two choices, little one.] There was a pause, and then the presence seemed to smile in his head. [I have waited long for someone to talk to. I can wait a bit longer. Until then, I give you the gift of innocence.]
Eric felt the presence fading out. [Wait! Who are you? What do you mean about…] A sound from outside distracted her momentarily. Then she squealed and kicked up her hind legs, nearly falling over in the process. Recovering, she began snuffling the floor, sampling the hay, bits of grain, pieces of dung. The world was new, and she was anxious to discover it.
The End
