November 1, 2022
Maddy sighed disgustedly and held her phone up flat to her mouth, tapping the app icon to start recording a voice memo.
“Neal. 6:18 AM, room 3, Lakehead Traveler’s Inn up here in Thunder Bay. Slept like shit. Non-smoking room, which is nice. From the outside, everything about this place looks like it ought to stink like mildew and fifty-year-old cigarettes. But honestly, it’s clean, reasonably priced, bathroom’s in tip-top shape. Terrible coffee in the lobby, though. Just godawful coffee. Anyway, here’s your fucking check-in,” the sheep-bear spat out acidly as she reclined in the room’s sole chair.
“I have made no effort whatsoever to infiltrate the Korps, as per Director Hagen’s instructions, in the past twenty-four hours. I’m on the road, traveling to see my grandfather outside of Calgary, for an urgent family matter.”
Maddy made a noise somewhere between a grunt and an irritated snort, and gazed off into the distance out the window of her motel room. Somewhere nearby, a truck was backing up with an insistent beeping tone. “I mean, ‘urgent,’ well. It’s… it’s complicated. It goes back a long time…”
September 23, 2011
Madison Oakes jogged briskly out the front door of the middle school as the bullies chased the young sheep-bear. “Come on, guys, leave me aloooone,” they screeched plaintively, hunched down in their hoodie and gripping their backpack’s straps tightly.
Jeremy was their leader, a scruffy beaver wearing a Calgary Flames jersey emblazoned with PHANEUF and the number 3 on the back. The biggest, meanest boy in Grade 7, he and his cronies—Kyle, Brandon and Zeke—had immediately taken to harassing Madison when they’d sensed the sheep-bear’s weakness.
Their previous school had only gone to Grade 6; when they’d had to transfer to the larger middle school that fall, they were surrounded by cliques and battle lines that’d been drawn for years, and were easily isolated from their peers. Madison bleat-growled weakly, and tried to hurry away; if they could get across the street, the dental office where their mother worked as a receptionist was just down the block, and they’d be safe. Or even if they could get within view of the front door—the bullies had proven hesitant to pursue the sheep-bear with adults watching.
(Adults who weren’t driving, at least. Madison had found, to their distress, that the occupants of the SUVs and minivans that sped down 52 Ave. NW were unfazed by the sight of a sad, chubby preteen curled up on the sidewalk, being kicked and spat on by a group of larger boys.)
They were in luck, that day; there was no sign of traffic in either direction, and they scampered across the suburban thoroughfare and up the concrete stairs of the strip mall plaza, Jeremy and his goons in hot pursuit. Madison ducked between station wagons and sedans at the corner of the parking lot, and was almost in sight of the dentist, when a huge pickup truck zoomed down the lane in front of them; they jumped back, spooked, and tripped over on a gash in the asphalt. The sheep-bear landed on their backpack between two SUVs, and groaned.
A few seconds later, Jeremy was looming over them. “Hey, Tardison,” he sneered through his buck teeth. “What’s the rush, man?”
Madison tried to rise to their feet, but Brandon had circled around to the other side of the vehicles; the bemulleted, jean jacket-clad donkey planted a hoof squarely on their chest, forcing them back down. “Stay down, fag,” he grunted monosyllabically.
“Please leave me alone,” the sheep-bear whispered, tears welling up as their heart beat faster and faster. They attempted to push Brandon’s hoof aside with their stubby, black-nailed fingers, without success, and sniffled piteously when they couldn’t budge it. “I didn’t do anything to you…”
“Sure you did. Bein’ a homo all over the place,” Zeke called out from behind Jeremy. The others all guffawed and hooted uproariously at this display of sparkling wit.
Madison knew by now, from experience, that it would make no difference to protest that they liked girls. The bullies knew, they just knew that there was something different—something wrong, even—about the young sheep-bear. They felt like an alien, sometimes. A monster. And Jeremy and his friends could see it, somehow. They braced for the inevitable kicks, trying to protect their face.
They just wished they didn’t have to. They just wanted the bullies to back off, Madison thought with an anguished growl. The sheep-bear’s entire body tensed up, and then… something happened; they cried out. Their head hurt, and they heard pained groans. When they opened their eyes, the bullies were no longer standing overhead.
Scrabbling to their feet, they saw Jeremy, Zeke, Brandon and Kyle on the ground. The SUVs, previously neatly parked within the painted lines, had skidded askew around the tweens. Madison felt dizzy, but managed to leap over the prone elk and collie at their feet, and stumbled away.
Jeremy propped himself up on one arm, touching his other hand to his nose; it came away daubed with blood. The beaver pointed at the sheep-bear. “You… you freak! You’ve got powers, don’t you!” A wicked grin crept onto his face. “You’re gonna be in so much troubllllle,” he taunted in a sing-song voice as his erstwhile prey ran towards the dental office storefront.
November 1, 2022
“…And do you know what Jeremy does now? He’s an insurance agent in Lethbridge. Ran for school board trustee last year on an anti-bullying platform, that absolute fuckface. Anyway, he wasn’t wrong, I probably would have gotten in trouble for using my telekinesis on them, even if it was accidental, even though it was a textbook ‘stress-induced adolescent breakthrough manifestation.’ But my dad was Heartwood, ‘The Pride of Grande Prairie,’ so instead…”
September 27, 2011
Madison sat sullenly at the back of the conference room hunched over, hoodie pulled past their budding horns down to eye-level. They hated being Talked About, especially when they had to be in the room for it. The weekend had been a blur of grownups doing the same, at kitchen tables and in unnerving medical labs and on flights to and from Edmonton.
Mom, Granddad and Alexis Westerhaven—the Prairie League’s head of media relations, and a family friend since their father’s death—sat at the table with Principal Campbell and the school board psychologist. Granddad’s ursine bulk towered over the others, especially the slight marten and chickadee representing the Calgary Board of Education.
“You are not going to punish the boy,” the old bear growled. “He has a blessing like his father, and he’s going to be a Hero. He’s going to be the new Heartwood, some day.”
Ms. Wilkins, the psychologist, shoved her small circular glasses back up her beak. “Mr. Oakes, we’re not talking about punishment as such. We understand that Madison had… an episode when he was with the other boys on Friday, and while we appreciate that he has support from his whole family… and from the League,” she said, nodding at the Ann Taylor-clad blonde wolf, “We can’t have these kinds of outbursts around the other students, even off school grounds. The other parents are very upset about Madison. The children might have post-traumatic stress disorder,” she chittered.
Alexis sniffed coolly, and pushed two identical binders across the table to the school staff. “If you turn to page three, you’ll see our proposed plan for Madison’s next few years. First of all, he’ll be joining our Prairie League Cadets program, for youth with recently-manifested powers. He’ll learn discipline and self-control; we take pride in teaching young people how to be responsible citizens with their special abilities. Best of all, he can stay enrolled here at Simon Fraser, to minimize any further disruptions to his life. His training and exercises with the Cadets will take the place of participating in school-organized extracurriculars, like the hockey team.”
Flipping the principal’s binder ahead several pages, Alexis continued her spiel. “If he’s ready for it and shows the skill we think he can achieve—the testing we did at PLHQ on the weekend indicates very strong telekinetic potential, with a peripheral precognitive sensory aura that could aid in the development of exceptional agility and coordination as well—at 17 or 18 it’ll just be a formality to get him approved for the PHL Junior Development Program.” She flashed a toothy lupine grin. “And honestly, just think about the prestige the school could have for being associated with ‘Heartwood II.’”
Principal Campbell leafed through the binder, nodding along blandly. “We can work with this. Madison will also have to apologize to the other boys, of course; we have a zero-tolerance policy for harassment and bullying, and from what their parents have told me, he’s been giving all of them a hard time since the start of the school year,” the marten tut-tutted sadly. “Given the extenuating circumstances—and, of course, the League vouching for him, I won’t deny that’s a factor, the Minister of Education was very clear I should take that into account in coming to an independent decision on the matter—I think we can forgo suspension, this time.”
“No,” Granddad thundered, baring his teeth. “The boy has nothing to apologize for. He says the others attacked him. Four of them, one of him. Does that sound like he was the instigator here? Are you calling my grandson a liar?”
“Mr. Oakes—”
“Mr. Campbell,” the old bear snarled, “My son was a Hero. A Hero. He died in the line of duty, because cowardly little shits like those other boys ambushed him.”
“—And we’re very sorry for your loss and appreciative of your son’s service, but—”
“But nothing!” Garth Oakes roared, standing to lean over the conference table on his huge, shaggy knuckles, causing Madison to flinch and shrink further into a huddled ball of tween sheep-bear. “You heard Miss Westerhaven. The boy’s going to get professional training. He’s not going to apologize for coming into his powers, or for fighting off a gang of low-class hoodlums. I’m not bloody playing around here. Just be glad I don’t sue the school and all of them, for hurting his future Hero draft potential.” The bear heaved his broad frame back down into the stacking chair, which creaked slightly under the weight. He then stared at Mr. Campbell and Ms. Wilkins until they looked away, abashed.
The principal gulped, and turned towards Mom, avoiding eye contact with Granddad. “Ms. Gillespie? You’re Madison’s primary caregiver. I’d like to get your perspective on this.”
Mom blinked her ovine eyes, looking to Granddad and Alexis with a weak, nervous smile. “I, um, I think—I’m in full agreement with Garth and Alexis, of course. This is exactly what Madison needs,” she said in a stiff, practiced tone. “And—and I don’t think it would be fair to make him feel like he did anything wrong here. My husband told me about when he got his powers, and he just felt so out of control and emotional when it started happening… but when he was young, he didn’t have the help that the League is offering us now, of course.”
The principal and psychologist looked to each other, sharing a moment of evident chagrin. When the marten spoke again, he closed the binder and gently pushed it back towards Alexis. “Understood. Madison can return to class tomorrow, as long as he’s going to be under League supervision. And since we don’t have a Super Ed program, he absolutely cannot use his powers on school grounds; that’s not up to me or the Minister, that’s right out of the Education Act,” he said testily.
“Of course,” Alexis said unctuously, offering her hand to shake. “You have my personal guarantee that the PHL will keep things under control here. We wouldn’t want the public to lose confidence in our team, after all.”
Madison, still quietly sitting in the back of the room, head in their hands, stared at the floor.
November 1, 2022
“So, I had powers, Granddad was my biggest cheerleader, and he wouldn’t let anyone get in the way of my Hero career… least of all Mom, or me. How could he? His son was dead—by the way, Neal, I know how my father really died, it sure as fuck wasn’t that he went down fighting in some supervillain ambush—and he had to live vicariously through someone. That wasn’t the worst of it, though…”
January 5, 2012
“Happy birthday, dear Maaadison, Happy birthdaaaay to youuuuu,” the crowd around the dining room table crooned, off-key.
The sheep-bear blew out the candles, and tried to look happy. It was difficult; the cake was decorated with the Heartwood crest, and the streamers and tablecloth were all in bright red and white, the colours of their father’s costume. They couldn’t help feeling like this was a party for him, as if Roger Oakes’ parents and siblings had decided Madison could simply be slotted into the Heartwood-shaped hole in the world, and were celebrating their son and brother returning to life.
The family had become a lot more involved in their day-to-day world, now that they had powers. They missed the days when it had been just them, Mom and their sister Brianna, seeing the rest of the family only at holidays or over summer vacation. But it wasn’t just Granddad and Grandma and Uncle Gary and Aunt Marilyn and Aunt Joan and the cousins; the League was around all the time now, too.
Alexis was a frequent visitor again, in a way she hadn’t been since the year after losing Dad. So too were Danny “Sweet Crude” Johnson (an oil industry-sponsored Hero, and Alexis’ boyfriend) and Ken “Reclaimer” Marcinko (formerly one of Dad’s old teammates, retired from the field to become a Prairie League trainer, coach, and supervisor of the young sheep-bear’s Cadets squad). Granddad and the three of them had formed an unofficial committee to oversee Madison’s progress, brushing aside Mom’s concerns that they were driving “Heartwood II” too hard. They were all present for the party, of course, laughing and joking and retelling old war stories—literal, in Granddad’s case, from his stint in Korea.
“Okay, okay, everyone settle down,” Granddad rumbled cheerfully. “We’ll get to the cake, but first… this is for you, Madison,” he said, pulling a long, flat gift box from the nearby pile and pushing it into the sheep-bear’s hands. They looked up at his face; it was twisted up in an expression they’d rarely seen, a tear in the corner of his eye. Was that… pride?
“Open it, open it!”, Coach Reclaimer urged, smirking through his leonine fangs and throwing back the contents of the tumbler in his hand. Alexis, next to him, had a camera at the ready. She grinned aggressively, and pointed at her teeth, evidently urging the young sheep-bear to smile for the photo op.
Madison took a deep breath, and forced themself to comply before fumbling with the gift-wrapping, tearing it away in broad strips. Inside was a low cardboard box; they lifted the lid, and winced upon realizing what Granddad had given them.
It was Dad’s first costume, the one he’d improvised himself from hockey gear and a marching band uniform. They’d only ever seen it in old family photos. They held it up, hands shaking, as they heard the shutter of Alexis’ camera snap over and over again.
“My boy, I am so bloody happy for you,” Granddad gushed; he huddled in next to Madison, throwing a thick arm around his grandchild’s shoulder, and gestured for the wolf to keep taking photos. “The League says you’re on track for a real Hero career, just like your old man. You’ll do his legacy proud, and I thought—we all thought, all the Oakes—that you deserved to be the one to hold on to this, now.”
Uncle Gary started a round of applause and soon everyone else joined in, even Alexis, after she carefully set down the camera on the sideboard next to the punch bowl.
“Hear, hear,” Reclaimer said, approaching to tousle the young sheep-bear’s shaggy hair good-naturedly. “Madison, even though you’re still just in the Cadets for now, from one Hero to another—you’ll go further than anyone will ever expect, I’m sure of it. You’ll make sure nobody ever forgets the name Heartwood.”
“Um. Thank you, Coach. Thank you, Granddad, everyone,” Madison forced out politely, feeling their heart rate rising. “ExcusemepleaseIjustneedtousethewashroom,” they mumbled, ducking out from under the old bear’s grasp and hurtling down the back hallway. In the distance they could hear Granddad and Aunt Joan joking, something about the same jitters Roger had at senior prom. Reaching the bathroom, the sheep-bear slammed and locked the door behind them before sinking down to the floor, knees curled up against their chest. They couldn’t hold back the panic any longer, and began hyperventilating.
A few minutes later there was a soft knock at the door. “Just—just a minute, be done soon,” they called out manically, before burying their face in their hands.
A high, soft voice murmured quietly from the other side of the door. “Are you okay?”
They pulled themself together and got to their feet, opening the door. It was their little sister, Brianna, an expression of concern on her tiny ovine features.
“There’s cake…? Cake makes me feel better if I’m sad,” she said gently.
“Are… are they looking for me?”
The younger sheep-bear shook her head. “Nuh-uh. Grandy said to give you time, ‘cause it was a big respo… reshpon… a big deal to be Heartwood, and you were ‘collecting yourself’ now that you for-real have Dad’s old stuff. But I thought you looked sad.” She looked up at her sibling. “I think you look sad a lot.”
Madison smirked, pained, and hugged their sister against their broad frame. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.”
“Why are you sad?”, she said plaintively, muffled by the older sheep-bear’s best dress shirt.
“Bri…”
They considered telling her. They didn’t want to be Heartwood. They weren’t even sure they wanted to be a boy, for that matter… not that they could do anything about that. But how could they explain to their eight-year-old sister the pressure they were under, to be a man—the ‘man of the house,’ even—and a professional Hero, and carry on Dad’s legacy?
What if they screwed up somehow? How would the family feel about that? How would Granddad feel? How could a little girl possibly understand what it was like to have their whole future laid out for them in an instant, all their hopes and dreams set aside by the grownups around them, just because they had to go and frigging—no, this warranted stronger language, they had to go and fucking—get superpowers, just like Dad?
Madison squeezed Brianna more tightly, beginning to weep, but managed to suppress the tears with a snort. No, they couldn’t put all this on her. Or Mom; the sheep never discussed money around her children, but they could tell that all the League attention and resources were, somehow, making it easier for the exhausted receptionist to make ends meet for the three of them.
They had to be strong, and try to hang on. For Dad. And for Mom and Brianna. They’d just have to make everyone proud, no matter how empty it made the teen sheep-bear feel on the inside.
Madison pulled away from their sister, and crouched down to meet her at eye level. “I’m fine, Bri. I promise. Big brother promise, got it? I swear.”
She appeared hopeful, if not entirely convinced. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” they grinned, patting her on the shoulder. “Let’s go get some cake, Snotbrain.”
Brianna bleat-giggled. “Race you for it, Buttface!”
November 1, 2022
“So that’s why I need to talk to him. I don’t… I don’t want to be a Hero any more. I never did, but it took me a long time to be able to say that out loud.” The sheep-bear winced, and bit their lip. “And I’m going to have it out with my grandfather, once and for all, before I actually make that decision. I need to know why he did what he did. Because… if I quit, that wouldn’t just be rejecting my shitheel queer-bashing, wife-beating rage monster dad; it’d be rejecting his whole family, especially Granddad. And he needs to know that he deserves it.” They took a deep breath. “I need to know that he deserves it.”
Maddy sighed, and after a moment, hit the stop button. She set the phone down for a moment, and took a long sip of (godawful) coffee, wincing, but grateful for the caffeine regardless. When she picked the phone back up, her thumb hesitated for only a few seconds over the screen before tapping to delete the memo, and starting a new recording.
“Neal. 7:03 AM, room 3, Lakehead Traveler’s Inn up here in Thunder Bay. Here’s your fucking check-in…”