If you would like a warning on this story before reading it, please scroll directly to the bottom...
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The old man sat in his rocking chair, gazing out at the vast expanse of mountains before him. A sharp pain in his knees told him that snow would be arriving soon. It didn't bother him much. His friend was coming and nothing could dampen his high spirits. He stood slowly, feeling and hearing the protest in his joints. The wood pile seemed to get farther from the house every year, and he supposed some day he wouldn't be able to make the trip, but he'd die trying if he had to. It was his birthday today, and company was coming. He'd be damned if he would make them sit in a cold cabin. As he hobbled out to gather the wood, he could hear Margaret busy inside. He was amazed at the woman's energy. She'd been retired for over thirty years and she still got her oil paints out every morning and worked on her canvases until lunch time. According to the "experts" in Seattle, Maggie was a famous artist, but he didn't know anything about that, he just liked her work. The smell of the oil paints, the sounds of scraping and mixing on her palette, and the whispery scratching her brush made as it applied color to canvas were the most comforting things he knew. A skittering sound caught his attention as he picked up a few chunks of wood. Bugs. These days he had his firewood delivered, something he'd fought against for years, but his wife had insisted after he had nearly lopped his foot off with the ax last year. Thirty three stitches. The doctor had been confounded by his refusal of a local anesthetic and even more perplexed when he hadn't flinched as he was sewn up. The young doctor had been irritatingly condescending before that incident. He smiled, remembering the look on the youngster's face. The Doc treated him with awe and respect now.
The sound of a car pulling up the dirt road caught him by surprise. Cars were so damned quiet these days, and his hearing wasn't as reliable as it used to be. All of his senses were sporadic now. Most of the time he had the sight and hearing of a healthy young man. He supposed he should be grateful for that, but he still felt the loss. Now that he heard the vehicle, he concentrated his senses. No, not his friend. Two grandchildren, three great-grandchildren and one great-great-grandchild. Even if his memory had been as sharp as when he was younger it would have been difficult to keep track of them all. For his friend it was even worse. He'd always liked to tease the professor that he and his wife had bred like bunnies. Out of all of those children and grandchildren, only two had emerged with the same qualities as the old man and his friend. One sentinel and one guide. The age difference had been similar as well, only this time it was his granddaughter who was the sentinel, and the professor's grandson who was the guide. They were married now and working for the Coast Guard as a search and rescue team. He piloted a helicopter while she used her extraordinary senses. They had the best record of rescues in Coast Guard history. The old man and his guide had helped them through their first rough years after discovering their unique qualities.
Without exception, all of the professor's children had been extremely bright and intuitive, and all of the sentinel's progeny had at least one enhanced sense. Even now, the professor took copious notes on the subject, maybe hoping in old age to gain some of the fame and recognition that had eluded him earlier in life. One of the professor's children had been nominated for a Nobel Prize in science for her work in genetics, but his friend's sentinel research had never really caught anyone's attention. The professor had intentionally kept a low profile, of course, but it didn't stop him from wishing he'd been recognized for his life's work.
The old man closed his eyes and took a deep breath, centering himself for the onslaught of family that had begun to arrive. When he opened them again, he caught sight of shiny black fur and a long tail retreating behind the woodpile. The panther had been making appearances more and more often in the last months, but the sentinel was not ready to follow it yet.
The car pulled to a silent stop in the driveway, and grandchildren and great-grandchildren poured out. His son and daughter-in-law had passed on years ago, as had most of his children. It was the one thing he regretted about being very old, but they had all had good, full lives and that made the pain of loss less acute. Before he could protest he was buried in hugs and kisses and warm greetings. When he was allowed up for air again, the wood had disappeared from his arms and was being carted off towards the cabin. More noise followed as Margaret's joyful voice greeted her family. An expensive luxury car pulled up and he instantly recognized Daryl. A lump formed in his throat. Daryl was no longer young, but he still strongly resembled his father. The captain had passed away twelve years ago, fooling everyone who had claimed that his stressed-out nature would lead to an early grave. Daryl had done well in life. He had surprised them all when, after he graduated from college, he had become a commercial airplane pilot. Now he was the chairman of a large commuter airline and had achieved more fame than any of them. He was a tall, distinguished looking man with grey hair, and his purposeful stride belied his age.
"Jim! How are you?" He held out his hand and shook Jim's firmly.
"Daryl, it's been a long time."
"Has Blair arrived yet?"
Daryl had funded a number of anthropological expeditions for Blair over the years, and they had remained close. "Not yet. Soon, I hope."
They returned to the porch and chatted amiably for a few minutes about the weather in the mountains and the state of Daryl's business. Reminiscing about Simon would wait until the professor arrived. More relatives drove in, including Blair's family, but there was still no sign his guide.
Old memories surfaced. Blair had a propensity for getting himself into trouble, though this was less true since Jim had retired. The old man was in no condition to do any rescuing these days if it were called for. He wasn't really worried, he knew deep in his soul that his guide was fine, he was just impatient to see him. They spoke and wrote to one another often, but he hadn't seen his friend face to face in over five years. He'd been down in Borneo, studying some tribe that had stubbornly refused to become a part of the twenty-first century. It had taken Blair over fifty years since he had turned down that first trip, but he'd finally made it.
Preparations for the party were well under way. Picnic tables had been removed from the storage shed in the back yard and were being cleaned off. It was a little chilly, but there wasn't enough room in the cabin for all of the people who were coming. Many of the younger people had brought along camping gear and were planning on spending the night in the huge field behind the house. Not so long ago, he would have considered joining them, but he had been hard on his body during his years as a detective. His guide's training had been excellent, but there were limits to the amount of pain he could endure, and sleeping outside was no longer a pleasure for him.
He had been sitting and observing the activity around him. Now a child of ten appeared beside him, holding a cold beer. "Here Gramps. Grama said you would need this now."
Jim smiled and accepted it, trying to place the child. He was fairly certain that she had both Sandburg and Ellison blood. She had curly brown locks and seemed full of pent up energy. One of the children of the search and rescue team. It pleased him no end that he and Sandburg's grandchildren had married and had children of their own. It seemed fitting in a way. The professor had only been half joking when he'd wondered if the child of a sentinel and a guide would be both.
The old man hoped not. It sounded lonely.
Barbecue grills were being unloaded from the back of someone's pickup truck, along with coolers full of food and beverages. He wondered how many people were coming to the party, but decided it was best not to know. He had learned over the years not to dislike things like this. His guide had taught him that being a solitary man could be lonely, and that he should learn to appreciate being around people who loved him.
"Gramps, Grama says you're a century old. Is that true?"
A small crowd of curious children had crept up on the old man while he was lost in thought.
"Yep."
"What's a century?" Asked a five year old boy.
The girl who had brought the beer piped in. "It's a hundred, stupid."
"Now, now." Jim chided. "There are no stupid questions."
"You're a hundred years old?"
"That's older than Grampa Blair. He's only eighty-eight."
"You're not really my Grampa. You're my great-great-Grampa."
"You get a lot of wrinkles when you get old."
The old man laughed. "All true."
The curious ten-year-old piped in again. "Tell us a story about when you were a policeman. Like the time you hung from a helicopter to rescue Grampa Blair."
All the children, whether they were from the Sandburg or the Ellison families, referred to them as Grampa Jim and Grampa Blair. It was confusing when trying to determine the lineage of a child, but at this point he was beyond caring. He thought of them all as his family, and he knew they felt the same about him. Since there were small children listening, he told them a story about Sneaks the snitch, and how he loved tennis shoes and had taken Grampa Blair's favorite pair in exchange for information that helped them put a very bad man in prison. He left out the disturbing parts of the story. Some memories refused to fade or soften with time.
Where was his guide? He was always late. Probably missed his plane from Borneo. Just as he was beginning to despair, a cab pulled into the drive, followed by screams of delight from the children, who abandoned the old man's side to rush and greet the new arrivals. The first to emerge was a woman in her mid-80's. The professor's wife. She was a handsome woman with a thick grey braid hanging down her back. The old man hadn't liked her at first. He found her too pushy and opinionistic, but he'd grown to love her over the years. She was a brilliant anthropologist and possessed a sharp wit. He had feared that she would dominate his friend after they were married, but it turned out that she respected the professor as much as he respected her, and their friendship had helped them weather the stormy moments. They had worked together through much of their marriage.
The old man stood apprehensively, waiting for his guide to emerge from the cab. It had been so long, he was almost afraid that he would find out that his friend had stayed in Borneo. As soon as he saw the brilliant mass of snowy curls, he let out a sigh of relief. His hair was as unruly as ever and framed a wrinkled face the dark brown of shoe leather. Too many years studying in southern climates had left the anthropologist looking positively ancient. He appeared thin and frail. The old man was concerned for a moment, until he saw his friend's eyes light up and a smile fill his face as he caught sight of the children. They began jumping up and down.
"What did you bring us? What did you bring us?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" Pale blue eyes twinkled mischievously.
The cab was quickly unpacked and the driver paid. The professor then opened a large suitcase from which he produced hand-picked gifts for each child. Not only did he know all of their names, but he also knew all of their interests, and none of the kids were disappointed with their unique presents. The old man was reminded again why so many people loved his friend. When he had been thanked and received many hugs and kisses, the anthropologist made his way over to the porch leaning heavily on a cane.
"Jim." He smiled.
"Blair." Tears of joy had come to the old man's eyes, and he reached over and gathered his dearest friend in a bear hug.
"It's been a long time, man." Blair returned the hug.
Even now, after all these years, the essential Blair was the same as he'd always been. Casual, friendly, curious and bursting with youthful energy and intelligence. Only his body had been betrayed by time. He was quite a sight. The contrast between his dark, weathered face and his wild shock of white hair was amazing. Age and sunlight had faded his eyes to such a pale shade of blue, they almost seemed white. He had assumed Blair's use of a cane was necessitated by age, but then he noticed the cast on his friend's foot. "What happened?"
"Long story. I had an altercation with an uncooperative pack animal. Let's leave it at that."
Jim laughed. "Same old Blair."
The anthropologist sighed and sat down. "Old is the operative word. I have so many ideas and so many things I want to accomplish, but my body insists on trivial things like sleep. I don't know why it wants it now, it's never had much of it before. I considered having myself cloned, but of course that would be completely immoral."
"Some people believe that breeding clones is no different than breeding cattle."
Blair shook his head, scowling. "I'm not one of them."
"I didn't think you would be. I don't know what all the fuss is about. You live until you're done living and that's it. Cloning is just a desperate attempt to avoid the inevitable."
"Same old Jim. I knew when we first met that one day you'd become a cranky old coot." The now-familiar ten-year-old arrived at Blair's side with a beer. "Thanks, Claire. How'd your science fair project go?"
"Good, Grampa. I won second prize." She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "First place went to a kid who made a plaster of paris volcano."
"There is no justice in the world, kid. Your mouse breeding project should have won easily. Just remember, some people will always prefer flash over substance, but it's substance that makes the world go around."
"Thanks, Grampa." She kissed him sweetly on the cheek and ran off.
"Plaster of paris volcano," the professor muttered. "Old as Moses toes and twice as moldy. I ought to go over to her school and give that science fair committee a piece of my mind. Haven't got a brain between the lot of 'em."
"Now who's an old coot?"
Blair smiled, "So what have you been up to, Jim? Communing with nature?" He gazed out appreciatively at the view of snow topped mountains and forest visible from the porch. "I've always loved this place. Completely awesome."
"Reading mostly. Sit out here watching and thinking. Not a lot, I guess. I haven't been taking any hikes or visiting any pygmies like you have. I am a hundred, you know."
"What's that got to do with anything? Age is irrelevant. You've just gotta keep moving."
"Let's have this conversation again in twelve years and see what you have to say."
"Same thing, man. It's all mind over matter."
Blair made a familiar gesture with his hand and suddenly Jim was flashing back over 60 years, to a time when Blair was his guide full time. They had been inseparable then. In many ways they still were. He couldn't remember a week that had passed when he hadn't been in contact with his friend.
"Jim?"
The old man blinked. "What?"
"You were zoning out."
"No. I hardly ever do that anymore. I was just remembering."
The anthropologist held his tongue, although the old man knew that a statement about living in the past was not far from his lips. He'd always been a man of the present, living life to its fullest. Jim had, too, but he'd never had Blair's unique talent for finding something interesting in every place, person, or event. He'd always envied that in his friend.
They sat companionably on the porch; listening to the squeals of small children chasing each other through the yard; watching clouds scoot lazily across the mountains; smelling pine and brewing coffee.
"I've been seeing the panther a lot lately."
Blair straightened in his chair and turned to Jim, giving him his full attention. "Really?"
"He wants me to come with him. I haven't gone because I wanted to see you first."
"You wanted me to come with you." It was a statement, not a question. Blair had always believed that his place was with Jim when it involved any of his abilities.
"Not this time, Chief."
Blair was silent for a moment. Either choosing his words carefully or becoming angry. Jim thought it was a little of both.
"I'm your guide, Jim. What makes you think that would change after all these years?"
"You said it yourself, you still have many things you want to accomplish with your life. This trip may be permanent."
"You don't know that. Even if it is, I will always have something more I want to accomplish. It's in my nature."
"I can't let you do it."
"Ah, I see. You've never entirely been able to shake the impression that you are my 'Blessed Protector', have you? I make one innocent comment 60 years ago and you can't let go of it. You do realize, don't you, that being your guide has always superseded everything else in my life? It is the most important thing to me, and the reason has nothing to do with my research. Are you really prepared to shut me out now, after all this time?"
The old man looked at his friend, blue eyes wide with a mixture of hurt and anger, and felt a familiar rush of affection. He had always been able to count on Blair to be stubbornly by his side when he needed him, whether Jim wanted him there or not. "No," he said simply.
"Good. At least age has given you some sense."
"Do you ever regret meeting me?" Jim thought of all the opportunities the anthropologist had missed, forced to baby-sit him and his senses.
"I'm going to ignore that question and fervently hope that you aren't intentionally trying to piss me off."
Sparkling just beneath the surface of Blair's narrowed eyes, Jim thought he saw humor. He laughed, feeling relieved and joyful all at once. Going alone had frightened him. The old man was glad his friend would be taking this journey with him.
"I'd like to wait a little while, so I can see my family and talk to Catharine. My cast comes off next week, and I want to be whole for this adventure."
"I've waited a year, I can wait a little longer."
"What about the cat?"
"He'll have to wait, too. The panther was never able to control the direction of my life, only make suggestions and offer choices."
"Like a guide."
"No. Until now, I've only seen the panther a few times, when there was a choice to be made. If I'd never seen the animal, my life would not have been significantly altered."
"Oh, I don't think that's true."
"I do. The only thing that really had an impact on my life as a sentinel was meeting you. You were always as important as I was in the equation."
"Glad you finally realized it. I always knew you were a little slow." Blair smiled, joking it away. Jim had never been able to break him of the habit of diminishing his own importance.
"No, Blair, I'm serious. I had no control until I met you. I was useless as a sentinel, even dangerous. Had it not been for your tenacity and intelligence, I would have ended up with no control at all and possibly insane. You were an equal partner. Still are. I only wish you would realize it."
"Oh, I do. It took me years to accept it, but I finally did. I'd always felt that your physical superiority, your senses, made you the most important member of the team, but hindsight is 20/20. I know that I played a large part in solving those crimes. I know that we belong together in this thing, that apart we don't work. That's why I'm going with you."
The old man grinned widely. "OK. Good. Thank you for being here for me."
"Where else would I be, man?"
Epilogue
Excerpt from 'The Book of 21st Century Mythology', 3rd edition, 2154
The Panther and the Owl
This story comes to us from the forests of Cascade, Washington, and is based on the exploits of two real men: Professor Blair Sandburg, Ph.D., an anthropologist; and Jim Ellison, a retired detective who worked for the Cascade Police Department. These men gained some renown after their mysterious disappearance in the woods outside Cascade in 2059. After the posthumous publication of Professor Sandburg's personal journals, popular at the time for his frank and energetic descriptions of every aspect of his life, including his sexual exploits, it became commonly known that Ellison was a Sentinel. Until that time, little attention had been paid to the professor's doctoral thesis, which described Ellison as a man with extraordinary abilities. Now his works are basic reading material for anyone interested in these remarkable human beings. It has become commonly accepted that there are several Sentinels born in the world every year. In fact, one of Ellison's daughters was a Sentinel..
Along with the professor's copious notes about Ellison's abilities, however, was an intriguing mention of the Sentinel's mystical encounters with a black panther. It was never made clear whether Ellison believed these episodes to be true events or the product of his own imagination. One thing is certain; it sparked the imagination of the public. Soon after Ellison and Sandburg disappeared (shortly after the former's 100th birthday), reports began to appear of a panther prowling the Cascade National Forest. Most accounts mention that the panther was always accompanied by a snowy owl. After the publication of Sandburg's journals, a connection was made between the two. The Sentinel was believed to have turned into a panther, and his Guide into an owl. Together, they roam the forest, keeping it safe for eternity. Many sitings have been reported, right up to the present day. One particularly intriguing story involves a young child, lost in the woods, who claims to have been lead to safety by an owl, and protected from an angry bear by a panther...
The End
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Warning!!! The following story can be construed as a Death Story. Sort of. Although there is no actual death scene, it can easily be read as such. At least one beta reader suffered a total bum out while reading this. Some people have found it uplifting, though.
Out of respect for y'all, I wanted to make it clear what you're getting into if you continue on...
Also, I wrote this story well before I had any idea what Blair's spirit animal was or if he'd ever be given one.
O.K.
Now
that
I've
ruined
it
for
you....
Written 7/97, minor corrections 11/97