Call Of The Tamer - Chapter 3: Realizing The Harsh Truth

'Steal it. Steal it.' Michael scampered back into the disgusting alleyway he started from, gulping as the enticing scent of the skewers and spices made his stomach growl. His foot dipped into a nasty mixture of garbage water, brown and slightly sticking to his toes. Wincing, he wished he could clean the entire alleyway but calmed himself on the fact all this was nothing but a dream. Turning around, he peeked his head around the corner, eyeing the stall owner shouting at potential customers, sometimes opening the coin drawer.

"Ok, Mong. We just need to steal his coins." Michael exhaled heavily and rubbed his hands together. For the next hour, as the high sun finally descended from its peak, he tapped his foot nervously, still watching. He had gotten down the timing of when the stall owner opened his coin drawer and only had to act on it, but he couldn't move. Mong whimpered by his feet and tilted the adorable head as if asking what was wrong. Michael patted his cheeks to combat the jitters, a useless act. "I know, I know. Come on. It's just a dream. I can steal some coins. Come on."

"Excuse me, two skewers, please." A passerby stopped and held out some coins.

"A'course! Here's two for ya." The stall owner smiled widely, lacking the viciousness he enforced on Michael.

Breathing in, Michael scrunched his toes and leaned forward, tensing his calves for the right moment. His gaze followed the passerby, who placed the coins in the stall owner's hand, the timing almost arriving as the stall owner opened the coin drawer. Open drawer, skewers about to be handed off, the golden opportunity was here. But Michael drew back in indecision, groaning in frustration and banging his head on the ooze-ridden wall. Pacing back and forth, he smacked his own head and cursed, "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Just go and steal it. Fuck."

'Michael, don't ever get yourself in any trouble. Ah, my heart would drop if I heard you were caught doing a crime.' Reminded of his mother's endless lectures, Michael dragged his hand down his face, pulling on his jaw. Of course, he would never break his mother's heart and land himself in prison, but why couldn't he do what he wanted in his dreams? As he mulled and groaned over losing his chance, Michael heard a loud bark reverberating in his head and turned to see that Mong had disappeared. By instinct, he knew what the little puppy had done and rushed back to the corner, eyes round at Mong leaping and grabbing a couple of skewers off the stall owner. Mong put the plan into action without his approval.

"My skewers! Ya stinkin' mutt!" The stall owner roared as the new customers across stared in wonder as Mong hurried its stubby legs into the crowd.

'Mong…' Michael gritted his teeth as the customers and stall owner tried to chase after Mong. His dog gave him the best chance: an empty stall with an open coin drawer. Seeing the small pile of coins and the figures chasing his new friend, Michael slammed a fist on the wall and sprinted, keeping low to avoid wandering glances. He couldn't waste it and grabbed many coins, using his shirt as a pouch. Safely, he returned to the alleyway before the stall owner could see him, his heart racing and drumming loudly in his ears.

'Mong, are you alright?' Through the connection from Tame, Michael spoke telepathically to his heroic companion, though perhaps driving him to commit a crime made Mong a villainous dog. Mong barked loudly in clear joy, easing the weight in his heart. Slumping down, Michael felt he was deflating like a balloon, all the tension lifting from his shoulders, making him feel lighter than a feather. Looking down, Michael smirked and held a coin, the edges rough and worn down from years of use, turning it over to see a simple diamond engraving. He couldn't help but laugh. It was far heavier than the tokens in the arcades for sure, lending credence to its authenticity.

The sleeve easily parted from his ragged shirt with a dull snap. Michael placed the coins on it, wrapped it, and tied its ends, creating a dirty bag. If it were a cartoon, perhaps he needed to find a stick and hang this bag off the end. But, he felt it was a pity his powers over his dream couldn't manifest any money or, better yet, a way out. Outside the alleyway, the curses of the stall owner erupted, followed by a series of loud bangs, presumably a foot bashing the stall. Michael peeked out and quickly turned the corner, hiding the bag of stolen coins under his shirt. Luckily, the stall owner didn't notice his passing.

Mong's presence lingered in the edges of his mind. With a forceful thought, Michael brought it to the forefront, able to sense his companion's exact location and direction. Enliven by the dog's barks echoing in his ears, he picked up the pace, ignoring some of the hardened gazes that seemed to regard him with the same attitude he held toward roaches. After a length of three supposed blocks, counting the crossed roads, he found Mong hiding in a corner of another alleyway.

"Mong!" Michael crouched and clapped on his knees, attracting Mong's attention. The dog barked and practically pranced its way toward him, ramming its tiny head into his chest. Gasping, Michael coughed and hugged Mong, rubbing its stomach as the dog licked all over his face. "Good boy. Good boy. You did well. Look at how much we have." He bounced the bag, the coins clinking clearly each time they landed on his palm. Mong panted and barked repeatedly, expressing joy.

"Alright, Mong. Now we have one more job before the night." Michael opened the bag and scrutinized the coins one by one. Only a fool used clean, crisp coins as an apparent child of the slums. There were a lot of copper coins and three silver coins. He had no clue about the ratio of copper to silver, but at least one silver coin and a few coppers showed signs of extreme degradation, the engravings nearly scratched off and the edges dull. Ordering Mong to stay behind, he hung his head low and avoided as many people as possible on the way to the clothing shop, fidgeting when some stopped to stare before moving away.

The wooden door swung open as chimes rang out, much like the deli he frequented. An elderly man looked over the counter, readjusting his glasses before his eyes widened. Coughing on the way, the elder waved his hand in rejection and said sternly, "No. No. No. Don't leave a trail of mud in my clean store. There's no business for people like you. Leave, or else I'll inform the city guards."

"P-please, sir. I want to get a job. I don't want to live like this anymore." Michael even found himself very convinced from the mixture of pleading with his high-pitched, childish voice. He pretended to rummage in his nonexistent pockets and showed the brownish coins, caked in mud and carrying a foul stench of sewage. "I saved up all I found. No one will take me in without good clothes."

"For goodness…it's all dirty!" The shop owner coughed and pounded his chest as faint wheezes trailed off his words. He grumbled a bit before groaning, "Alrighty, lad, how much is that?"

"One silver and five coppers, sir. Please, I just need a shirt, pants, socks, and shoes." Michael bowed his head constantly.

The elder put on a pair of thick white gloves and gagged as he picked up the coins, carrying them as far from him as possible. He complained the entire way as he washed the coins in a bucket of water that soon turned murky brown. Even Michael inwardly admitted that he went too far in playing up the dirtiness of the coins. After a good clean, the coins spread over the counter, and the shop owner tapped his finger while rubbing his beard.

"You're lucky you're a small kid. Not much fabric is used in children's clothing. Especially the plain ones. Now those noble kids…they spend too much, but you got's to look good, no?" The shop owner leaned far away, keeping his nose back as he stretched a white string, measuring Michael's height, arm span, and more. At least he was a professional and not an asshole like the stall owner. "Let me guess, you can't wait for a custom order, and frankly, your coins can barely cover a tailored shirt. Lucky for you, I have some premade sets."

Michael eagerly waited near the entrance, unwilling to anger the shop owner by dirtying the floor with his mud-ridden feet. The shop owner returned from the back, holding a package in his arms. Michael graciously accepted the package, feeling the soft cloth underneath the paper wrapping.

"There's everything you need in there. It's not the finest, made from coarse linen, but better than what you have, ugh." The shop owner gestured for Michael to leave, pushing his hands frantically outward. He had a mop in one hand and wiped away the muck as Michael waved goodbye.

"What a nice man." Michael smiled and hummed on his way toward Mong. His stomach grumbled loudly, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment as a few others noticed and turned to him. Wait, what happened to the skewers Mong stole? He found Mong hiding and whimpering, and he instantly understood the dog had eaten everything by himself. "Mooooong!"

…….

A bright moon ascended to its highest peak, moonlight spilling into the narrow alleyway, bouncing off the walls to reach the ground. Mong's faint whimpers echoed in the deep night as Michael brushed the fur, picking out dry clumps of god-knows-what. The timing seemed right. The streets, once active with the sounds of countless conversations, footsteps, and wheels of carriages, had become empty. The last lights in the persistent windows flickered out, the moon having no luminous companion.

At last, no one was around. Michael exited the alleyway, followed by Mong, and saw the fountain he had spotted out earlier. Water still flowed from the four stone maidens, who smiled and poured from their jars. It sounded like the fresh water in a shower. After an entire day sitting and walking in sweat and mud, Michael didn't hesitate to strip down and dip in the fountain pool, a shudder crawling over his skin as the cold water was more refreshing than he had expected. Dunking deeper, he wiped his hair and surfaced with a moan, all the tension and exhaustion from today washing away with the dirt.

"Mong, don't make a huge mess," He warned the dog who paddled around the maidens, swimming lap after lap. For a moment, the water settled, and his reflection stared back at him. "Damn, I'm handsome." He couldn't help but say as he studied his new younger face. If it were back in his world, with a face like this, he was certain he could have become a child actor. The black hair, mainly straight, curled to the sides in a slight perm, exposing his forehead and allowing a pair of bright golden eyes to shine brilliantly. "Of course, this is a dream. Why else would I be so handsome?" Though he thought he wasn't too bad-looking in reality as well, this face far surpassed his real one.

"Status." Michael snapped his fingers.

Name: Mikhael
Age: 12
Class: Beast Tamer [FFF]
Strength: FFF
Endurance: FF
Vitality: FFF
Agility: FF
Magic: FF
Active Skills: Tame [FFF]
Passive Skills: Unlimited Evolution [???], March Of The Beasts[???]
Traits: None

Name: Mong
Race: Golden Retriever [FFF]
Strength: FF
Endurance: FFF
Vitality: FFF
Agility: FF
Magic: FFF
Active Skills: Bite [FFF], Claw [FFF]
Passive Skills: Sense Danger [FF]
Traits: Enhanced Smell [FFF]

"Going by the trend, I'm the main character in some transmigrated story." Michael laughed and splashed some water on Mong. "Bullshit." He sighed out a cold wisp of air, glancing at the moon. "This is one long dream." Dragging his drenched body out of the water, Michael tore open the package from the clothing shop, patting himself somewhat dry with the wrapping. Mom always told him clothes were important, especially for interviews. Standing on the edge of the fountain, he studied his clothes in the reflection and smiled. The white button-up long-sleeve shirt matched the long brown pants.

"A bit too long…." He folded the ends of the pants to the ankles and sleeves to the wrists. Perfect. He whistled Mong over and decided to sleep by one of the stalls, avoiding staining his new clothes with mud and the foul stench. Slowly, his eyes grew hazy, a blur overtaking his sight. With Mong in his arms, he fell asleep.

…….

'Mommy, why are they putting Daddy in the ground?' A young child tugged on his mother's black dress. Her cries stifled as she knelt and hugged him, her arms trembling.

'Daddy is going to sleep for a long time. Be a good boy, Mikey, and let him rest.' His mother caressed his head, tears staining his small suit. He couldn't understand why his father had to sleep for a while, but not to let his mother down, he nodded.

'When will he be back?' He asked with clear eyes, still unable to understand what was happening.

His mother held her mouth, tears overflowing from her shut eyes. 'Be patient. I'll tell you when you're older.'

…….

"Oh…." Michael rubbed his eyes, drowsy and exhausted from that dream. He hadn't recalled his father's funeral in a long time. At that time, he really didn't understand death, believing his father was sleeping. Rising to his feet, Michael breathed in the morning air, the rising sunlight skimming off the corners of the tall spires, casting great shadows that stretched to the ends of the city. He needed to find a way out. Perhaps he was locked in his body in a hospital, his mind playing him in this fantasy world for comfort.

'I need to get out.' He recalled the faces of his mother, stepsister, and stepfather, the latter two having made his family whole after the death of his father. He couldn't let them grieve anymore. They loved him, and he adored them. His feet stomped with renewed vigor, heading toward Everitt's Books. The bookstore was still locked at the crack of dawn, with a few hours remaining until opening. Leaning on the window, he petted Mong in his arms, the fur all clean and dry, fluffing in his fingers.

"Mong, I know you're just a dream, but thanks." Michael tapped on Mong's nose.

Mong barked in affirmation and nestled its face in his chest. A few windows slammed open, and people yawned and stretched their arms out, some flapping sheets to scatter dust from above. A small scattering of people wandered from the buildings, unlocking their stalls and stoking some flames to catch on the coals, a process that took a long time if he recalled his stepfather's barbeques correctly. Soon, the entire street bustled with activity, the first of the carriages wheeling by along to the clopping of the horses's hooves. Many stores opened their doors, a few waving greetings to one another. As they passed by, none regarded him with the same disdain or purposeful ignoring, behaving normally.

"Clothes really make the person, Mong. I owe that to Mom." Michael smirked and knocked his head on the glass. Hours later, the door beside him swung open, and a middle-aged woman with a slightly large face and braided brown hair swept out some dirt and dust with a straw broom. He perked up, glad to see its doors open, and waltzed over. "Hello, Missus. Are you open?"

"My, what a young, handsome boy you are. Yes, we are open. Come on in." The woman quickly made space for him to enter, and he strode forward, smelling the familiar scent of paper, a pleasing scent which he basked in daily to study. He handed two coppers to the woman, who pointed to the rows of shelves in the other room. It wasn't as large as he expected, but a good sizeable collection of knowledge, nonetheless.

Picking out several books, he found a table in the center and sat, flipping to the first page of one titled, 'The History of Meade City.' What sort of name was Meade City? He wondered as he read on. Slowly, his face contorted, eyes round and wide in shock. Everything from the sieges to riots to significant events was recorded in astonishing detail beyond his capacity to understand. "Isn't this too accurate and detailed for a fake history?" He mumbled as he tossed that book aside and read another, titled, 'The Lineage of House Fieyrs.' It told of the noble house that ruled the city and exact information about the ancestors, family trees, and accomplishments written on the pages.

"No, no, no. This isn't right." Michael crumpled the pages as he sped up. He expected old books he might have read, blank books, and maybe others. But not this, definitely not an alternate history with a nonexistent noble house. If it were like the movies, maybe a clue would have been in the pages, but the books held only history and records of impossibilities. He opened a so-called beast encyclopedia and paused at the diagram of the biology of a large wolf with a horn and snake for a tail. Organs, veins, bone structures, and behavioral observations were recorded, not missing a single detail.

Even in his most imaginative dreams, he could never have dreamed up something so precise. The book fell from his hands, landing on the table with a loud thud. The realization, the truth he ignored for the entire day, started to sink in. He winced before tears dripped on the pages of the fallen book, wetting and splotching the ink. "No!" Michael refused and read through more books, but the more he read, the more he felt he was sinking into a swamp, drowning in the reality of his situation.

"I'm in another world…." Michael pulled and clawed on his hair. "Did I die?" The tears overflowed. A surge of pain struck his heart as a terrible image of his poor mother crying over a casket pushed to the surface of his mind. "Damn it!" He gritted his teeth and rubbed his eyes fiercely. "Stop crying, damn it. Stop crying. You idiot, stop crying." But his young body refused to answer his will, undoing the dams blocking his tear ducts. He saw the faces of his family and banged the table.

"Why did it happen to me?" He cried shakingly. "Why?" He whimpered and squealed for several minutes, Mong rubbing his foot in an attempt to console him with no success. "Stop crying!" He shouted again.

Michael heard a soft thud and lifted his head out of his wet hands. The tears blinded him, but after a few blinks, he saw someone standing near him. She leaned forward, blue eyes like sapphire and long blond hair that shone like sunlight. A smile stretched from her small lips.

He stammered out, "W-Who are you?"