Alexander the Caracal meets Miltiades the Canada Lynx

The Fantasy

Dreams are called many other things. Some call them nightmares, some call them visions, some call them hallucinations and then there are some who call them fantasies. Wounded and with many things fueling his thoughts, Alexander found himself in a fantasy of his own.

Alexander had been born in Egypt, on an estate near the ruins of Memphis, capital of many a pharaoh, but none greater than Merneptah, son of Ramesses the Great, who had been his father's equal in diplomacy and the defense of the Double Kingdom. He had seen the ruins, been taken there by the master of his parents Amen-Ra and Olympias during days of training to be a champion hunter. They had only been ruins, but ever since coming into the ownership of the Egyptologist Captain Smith, Alexander had seen pictures of what he understood to be the Egypt from before his time, as it might have looked when the pharaohs ruled.

He found himself in a great palace, one that the pharaohs, be they native Egyptian or Hyksos, would have dwelt in. Ambrosial aromas of incense, graceful chambers of alabaster stone, truly this was the place where a god on earth dwelt. The Northern caracal stood in a courtyard, two small pools of water on both sides of him, two lily pads on the left, three on the right. Why? What were the pools there for? Just for decoration? Alexander did not know for certain.

Alexander's first instinct was to dip his right paw into the pool of water on his left and then pull his paw out shaking it. He then stared at the ripples, watching as the reflection formed in the pool as the water grew still. It was not his own, but that of Miltiades, snarling at him with all the hate that only that Canada lynx could possibly have.

Immediately Alexander looked back and forth and then looked back at the pool of water. The reflection was indeed his own.

Looking up to the entrance of the palace, Alexander saw his father Amen-Ra, to whom Alexander was apparition of when young. The Elder Northern caracal stared at his son and the walked down the steps of the palace. Amen-Ra did not come any closer to Alexander and instead merely looked at Alexander for a moment or two, before turning back to enter the palace. Without any thought of whether or not to do so, Alexander followed after his father and so entered that columned hall.

Had this hall existed outside of a fantasy, the columns would have been three feet by three feet in width and fourteen feet in height. For an animal whose height was twenty inches at the shoulder, these columns were absolutely gigantic. There were rows on each side of Alexander, three rows of three columns on the left and the same amount on the right. To Alexander, it seemed as if there might have been more, for as he stopped to look down the path of one row of columns, he saw no wall or anything else, save for a darkness that was blacker than the most Stygian of nights that even eyes such as his would have found no light in.

The meowing of his father Amen-Ra caused Alexander to continue to follow his great patriarch. Amen-Ra, named after the deity whom the Hellenes had equated with their own Zeus, was a champion among caracals, having brought down more birds than others in his generations and defended his master from African leopard, striped hyena, golden jackal and more, but primarily those three. The Egyptian lion was no more, big-game hunters and government officials putting bounties on their heads, both evil-hearted individuals, had seen them wiped from the earth and so, Amen-Ra had never known them. The Houses of Pardus, Hyaena, Acinonyx, Canis and Vulpis were those that Amen-Ra had fought against in defense of his master and his master's children and from him, Alexander had a great example of how to act as a hunting caracal.

Following his father into the throne room of the palace, that resembled what an artist had brought to Captain Smith. The throne, lay between the paws of a sphinx of some black stone. Sitting upon the throne was Merneptah, no longer a bust but now a complete statue. Alexander had seen the bust often in his master's office and knew the face well, but to see it with a body, looking athletic as pharaohs were portrayed, it seemed almost as if Alexander looked not upon a mere statue, but a man that might live and breathe... But yet, he knew well that it would not. It was but a thing of stone. There was no possible way that it could have...

The statue stood up and approached Alexander, something that did not alarm the younger northern caracal. Had this not been a fantasy, Alexander would have doubtless been alarmed, yet fantasies are strange things and one does not always know what will alarm them and what will not.

Next the statue spoke. It said: "Does the Defender of Man not heal when wounded by his enemy?" The voice was very much like that of a man that Captain Smith had invited to Quebec Castle, a thespian by appellation of Adolf Steiner, who had agreed to appear in some of Captain Smith's photographs recreating the court of Merneptah, playing the role of the first monarch to be called "Pharaoh" by his contemporaries. His voice had been rich and flawless, one befitting a monarch. The statue then spoke again, saying: "Be well, Defender of Man, and face your enemy once again!"

Fantasies are brief and may change as quickly as they began and no sooner did Merneptah finish speaking then the scenery changed. No longer was Alexander in a palace fit for a pharaoh, but he was now in the wilderness where he had been trained with the ruins of Memphis nearby. Still with him was his father Amen-Ra, but now his mother Olympias was with them as well.

Together the three caracals ran through the wilderness, parents and offspring together again. It was a dream that would have been perfect, yet Alexander wished for the presence of his human friends as well.

Alas, no matter how much he might wish for the Captain, Nana Smith, Alan, Gemma or the rest were there, the fact was the fantasy was not something easily swayed by wishes. Fantasies are like that.

Running through the Egyptian wilderness with his patriarch and matriarch, Alexander never could have conceived that his fantasy could have been anything else. Then a cry rang out and Alexander ceased running.

All was grey now. The sands, the trees, the grass, all was devoid of its beautiful colour save for Alexander and...

Alexander looked back and forth. His parents... Where were they? They had just... vanished. He could not understand it. No one simply vanished. Yet, alas, in a fantasy, one could simply vanish.

The disappearance of his parents was something that Alexander would have to investigate later. That cry had been no animal's cry, it had been the cry of a human! It had been the cry of Hippolyta!

Running in the direction of the cry, Alexander did indeed see Hippolyta and she was being menaced by Miltiades, yet not as the Northern caracal knew him. Though he recognized the enemy grimalkin as Miltiades, this was a Canada lynx made of stone! Somehow, Alexander did not see any reason to find this peculiar. One seldom did with fantasies, not even with incubi, more commonly known as nightmares.

Bogie-fronted Miltiades looked to the Northern caracal the moment that Alexander appeared on the scene. The cold grey orbs of the living statue narrowed as if to say: "So you did survive."

Alexander gave no reaction. He did not hiss, he did not growl, he did not narrow his own eyes or even flatten his ears against his skull. He merely stood before Miltiades, as if he too were becoming a statue. He may very well have, yet without the marvellous gift of lift that the Canada Lynx of Stone had.

And then, his antagonist struck!