I don't own Doyle. I don't own the Secret Saturdays.
Once again, I own the idiot trophy hunter, his flunkies, and the animals.
I blame (er, I mean credit) CJzilla for the idea I stole (I mean, that inspired me) for this arc.
(Wow. I've really got to watch those Freudian slips.)
However, whether for good or ill, the creature that appears is the only intended similarity to that story.
And speaking of that similarity, a quick warning:
This chapter represents the final "animals behaving strangely" secret within the generic. (Other details may develop according to the nature of each fic.)
But because of the nature of that particular secret...towards the end, this chapter might get a little...um.... Well, messy isn't the right word, simply because there isn't much mess to deal with, but some readers might not want to know what happens.
To put it into perspective, I am mostly sure that...certain...parts of the third section could give me nightmares.
And if I worked my "retcon" in properly, some of the next few chapters will have a similar...situation.
The Hunted
Doyle's world alternated between pain, dulled only by the haze that surrounded everything, and absolute nothingness.
When he was in the fog, he heard voices around him. He wanted only to ignore them, to sleep, to escape the pain.
But when there was nothing, he was afraid. He wanted to wake up, to know what was happening, to know if there was danger.
He did not know how much time passed this way.
He felt a sharp jab in his chest, quick, then it was gone.
He opened his eyes and saw only blackness.
He felt it again. He tried to move, to fend off whatever touched him.
He could not move.
The jab came, harder this time, and he cried out.
He heard nothing.
The feeling went away, and he began to believe he was still unconscious.
Before he could drift off, the jab came again, jolting him into full wakefulness.
Feeling gradually returned to his body.
Something pressed against his ankles and wrists, keeping his arms and legs immobile behind him. The blackness before his eyes stretched from his forehead to his cheeks. And when he tried to open his mouth, he could taste the rag wedged between his jaws.
He fought the bindings, stretched his fingers to feel a long metal object thrust through the cord. He cried out again, in pain and fear; he heard his voice, muffled, through the gag.
"Ah, finally, you're awake," the boss said. "Took long enough. I was starting to think you'd be dead weight, after all."
Doyle jerked his head in the direction of the voice. His breath came short; he had to force himself to remain calm, to listen to what was happening.
He had been silent for a long while, and the hunter struck him again. It was not a quick jab in the chest, nor even the lash of the horsewhip. The hunter had struck him in the ribs with something long and hard.
Doyle screamed through the gag.
"Yes," the hunter hissed. "Yes, do that. Keep making that noise. You'll never be useful for anything else, not after you let that mare cripple you. Keep screaming!"
Doyle struggled against the bindings, struggled to get away from the source of this pain.
He went silent again, and the hunter struck him again. The hunter yelled at him to keep screaming, and struck again and again, every time he went silent.
This continued, until a different sound, the roar of a large animal, was heard in the distance.
"Perfect," the hunter said. "No sense being quiet now. Now it knows that it's dinner is here."
The hunter's footsteps moved away.
Doyle screamed and cried, and tried to get free.
He scraped against the ground many times in his thrashing. The blindfold started to come loose, and slipped off of one eye, when Doyle felt heavier footsteps approach him. Hot breath panted, so close to his ear.
He turned his face towards the sound.
And stared into the largest set of fangs he'd ever seen.
—
The hunters crouched behind a rise and watched the beast approach the child.
One hunter, the one who'd been sent earlier for supplies, shook his head at the sight. "I can't believe I agreed to this," he muttered.
The boss smirked at him. "Oh, come now, this one's a good job, and you know it." He shrugged, and nodded in the direction of the creature. "Pity all the supplies we had to waste on that kid, but the client's paying big time to bag this monster. Enough for a hefty profit for all of us."
The other one glared at him. "I know that, but...."
"You ain't backing out, now, are you?" the boss asked, too calmly.
"No," the one hunter said. "I just think there's too many things that can go wrong, is all. I mean, you can't really be thinking of taking a shot at that thing right now, can you? With the kid out there? What if you miss?" The boss gave him an odd look. "I'm not questioning anybody's aim, but all it takes is one stray dart."
"Course I ain't going to shoot now," the boss said, returning his attention back to the creature. "If we miss, that monster would just get scared back into the trees. Far more expedient to wait until it's busy with its meal."
Busy...with its meal...? The one hunter stared in shock. None of the others seemed bothered by the boss's choice of words. "No," he heard himself say. "No. I did not sign up to murder children!"
He pushed to his feet, but three of the others tackled him and pinned him, face-down in the dirt. He struggled against their grip, until he felt something cold and hard push under his chin. He looked up, saw that the thing touching his neck was the end of the boss's gun, and broke out in a cold sweat.
"You interfere," the boss warned, "and I'll throw you out there for the main course."
"Hey, boss?" the man on lookout called. "We, uh, we got a problem."
"What kind of problem?"
The lookout pointed to where the beast had been investigating the child.
The child was still there; the beast had disappeared.
The boss swore under his breath, and kicked at the man still on the ground. With the three holding him, the man could only just evade the kick.
The boss gestured to another of the group. "Look for it; check for the tracks. It can't have gotten far."
The indicated hunter nodded and sprang over their sparse cover.
And screamed.
The sound was cut short by a wet, tearing sound, and the beast leaped over the rise to face the hunters, its fangs dripping with blood and fresh meat.
The hunters scrambled to face the creature, and the one who'd spoken out slipped away from them in the confusion.
He raced towards the spot where the child lay. Maybe he can get away, he prayed. Or I can drag him off if the leg's too bad, or if he's too doped up.... He shook his head, and his lips twisted into a snarl. "For our men," my ass. Then that "accident" with the mare! How long has that monster been planning this?
The hunter reached the child and set a knife to the cords.
But the child was in such a state of terror, that he did not realize the hunter was helping him. He was incapable of forming a single human thought, and when the hunter touched him, he lashed out with the only weapon he had.
Spirit fangs turned solid and tore through the hunter; a gurgled shriek escaped from the man's lips.
—
The sudden surge of power took its toll on the pup. Though this form was spirit, it had a physical existence, and physical needs. This body was ravenous. The need to feed was as powerful, as overwhelming, as the need to defend himself.
And two-leggers were such easy prey.
He sniffed at the unconscious body of the child—my self, other self—and dismissed it as not prey.
He examined the two-legger whose blood dripped from his fangs. That two-legger opened his eyes and stared at the pup, and began to scream.
The pup ignored the prey-sounds and proceeded to rip the two-legger open. The sound did not end until the pup tore out the two-legger's beating heart.
The older beast finished decimating the hunters and settled to watch. She sensed something strange about this new pup. Something to do with that young two-legger. A moment ago, when the she had first investigated the little one, it had the feel of this pup, for all that it smelled of a two-legger.
Now, it was all two-legger.
The female rose to her feet and sniffed at the little two-legger. She opened her jaws....
And the pup rushed the female, knocking her off her feet.
Not prey! the pup said, standing over the body of the little two-legger.
The female cocked her head at this behavior. It is two-legger, she said.
The pup snarled. No! It is my self, other self. It is not prey! But the pup shook with fear. Some elders could only just tolerate the strange ways of the young. This one would have no patience for a pup that tried to protect what should be prey. But how could he explain to the female, when the pup didn't understand it, himself? It is...part of me, myself. I cannot let it be prey!
Your self? the female replied with a laugh. True, you stink of the two-leggers. But that little one is no part of you. You are all pup, and that is all two-legger. The pup stood his ground, and the female growled. Two-leggers are always prey.
The female lunged, grabbed the pup by the scruff of his neck, and flung him down the hill. The pup struggle to his feet, only to drop to the ground again. The pup's ears rang from the blow, and he stared in horror as the older one turned back to the little two-legger.
The pup forced himself back onto his feet, and sprang for the older one—
"STOP!"
The two beasts backed away from each other. The female watched the new two-legger warily, and the hawk that guarded him. The pup's confusion was one thing, but now a spirit protected the prey? Or one of the gods? A god of another land, at that; the hawk could not protect the child unless the local gods allowed it.
The pup watched the spirit with curiosity. He had only enough human memory to recognize the figure, but was animal enough that Anzu's earlier trick did not...quite...affect him.
Dad?
"Thank the g...thank goodness, you remember me," Jonathon said in a sob. He crouched to face the pup. "Yes, Doyle. It's me. It's Dad."
Doyle looked at his human body, then at the female beast, then back at his father. What's—what's going on?
"I'll explain later," Jonathon replied. "Right now, you need to return to proper form."
Doyle looked at his human body, then at the female beast, then back to his father. I can't. She—she thinks it—I'm—prey. His "voice" sharpened with fear. If I return to that—
Jonathon shook his head. "Because you've separated yourself. I don't think she can sense you within your human shape. She'll understand once you're back to normal." The female snarled and stared behind them; Jonathon followed her gaze. "Doyle, please, you don't have much time. Someone heard that fight; something comes to chase her away. If you're still here, like this—Doyle, if you don't return now, you might not be able to."
Doyle did not understand his father's fear, but some instinct warned him that it was never wise to remain outside his body for long. But there was another problem. That same instinct had always sent him back into his own body; he had never done it of his own will.
I don't know how, he muttered. I don't know how I did this. I don't know how to fix it.
The hawk screeched. Jonathon listened to its call, then nodded and called up his own memories of the talent. Within moments, the pup disappeared, and Doyle opened his human eyes.
He did not see his father, or the hawk. He saw only hooves drumming the ground and surrounding him as the animals attached to them chased the beast away.
Then darkness took him.
The price that such a use of power had (besides the overwhelming instincts and the whole "sometimes forgets he's human" issue) is similar to that faced by Anyanwu when she changes shape too quickly in Octavia Butler's "Wild Seed."
Very similar. In fact, other than the "spirit vs. physical change" issue, that particular problem is exactly what I had in mind. At least from the perspective of the observer.
From Doyle's perspective, there will naturally be some modifications to it. Like other characters' exploration of the problem showing it to be a metabolism issue rather than a simple "need to feed." (In spite of the fact that he's a spirit in this form.)
Although I am working on a more involved explanation....
There you have the final "animals behaving strangely" detail for the generic.
At least from Doyle's side of things.
There may be other details Doyle encounters in other stories; there will be other ways in which animals behave strangely for other (original) characters.