One Realm Beyond (25 page)
“Are we looking for something?” asked Bridger on the second round.
“I’m not sure what. It’s just that I would expect Ahma to leave me some kind of sign if she’s alive and went off with Odem or someone else.” With his hands on his hips, he surveyed the surroundings. “Tom’s not here. I wonder if Odem and Nahzy were here when this happened.”
When they ended up in front of the cabin again, Cantor paused. “I’m going down to the village to see if anyone can tell me anything.”
“Do you suppose they came running up to help when they saw the flames?”
He shook his head. “No, you can’t see Ahma’s place from the village. The path twists and turns and takes you to the other side of an outcropping. Though it’s not far. They’d be more likely to have smelled the smoke if the wind was in the right direction.”
Cantor swept a hand in front of him. “But I see no indication that someone tried to douse the flames. I don’t think anyone came to her aid.”
Again he peered through the collapsed walls at the debris on the floor of the cabin. He shook his head. “We’re losing the light. I must go if I’m going to get back before full dark.” He put a hand on the dragon’s arm. “Stay here, Bridger, please. If anyone comes along, ask questions.”
“As a dragon?”
Cantor let out a sigh and rubbed the back of his head. “No, the people of Dairine are not that familiar with dragons. That’s why Tom held his dog shape for so long.”
“Are they at all familiar with talking dogs? Ones that ask nosy questions?”
“No, I guess not.” Cantor looked out across the valley. His body felt like it twitched and crawled under his skin. He wanted to know what had happened. Where was Ahma? Was she all right? She couldn’t be under the burnt wood. He wouldn’t think of that. He must be rational and do what could be done.
Cantor surveyed the ruins. The dragon still stood behind him. Depending on Bridger to ferret information from a stranger was a long shot.
He had to go. “Nobody comes by here except on very rare occasions. You probably won’t get to ask even one question.”
“Maybe someone will.” Bridger’s voice had changed timbre.
Cantor whirled around. An old man stood where Bridger had been. With a cane in one hand and a cat cradled in the crook of his arm, he looked like he belonged in this part of Dairine. He wore plain homespun, shabby boots, and a cloth hat. Bits of gray, stringy hair hung down to his shoulders, and deep wrinkles sketched age in his face.
“I’ll wait here for you,” said the old man form of Bridger. “You get on down to those people who might know something worth knowing. Don’t worry about me.”
Cantor stood for a moment, examining the shape-shifted dragon. The new form was astonishing.
“Bridger, you are an artist.”
The dragon shook his human head and frowned at Cantor. “Go find out about Ahma. I’m worried.”
“You’re worried?”
“Yes! Get moving.”
Cantor loped down the trail. He and Ahma used the uppermost part of the path to visit the fruit trees and the wild field
of onions and greens. Constant traffic kept the dirt packed and free of plants. He noticed a few hardy weeds had poked up where they were not wanted. So Ahma hadn’t been down this way for some time.
After he passed the orchard, the trail became steeper, the path rougher and more narrow. Undergrowth from the woods encroached liberally on this stretch. Where the trail leveled, he picked up speed, then slowed again where loose rocks or plants obstructed his way. One section ran along the base of a cliff. For years, one of his chores had been to clear debris from minor rockslides here. No one had done it since he left, but the course was still passable.
As he rounded the last bend, the village came in sight. Cantor heaved a sigh of relief. In the back of his mind, he had feared he would find the homes and shops leveled by fire as well. Whatever caused his home to be burnt must have been natural, perhaps lightning. No marauders had ravaged this corner of Dairine.
He could see people in their yards and walking on the lanes. Shops had closed for the day. The settlement took part in peaceful evening activities, such as chatting over a hedge with a neighbor, or women sitting on the porch with handwork while the children played in the dimming light.
He’d known these people his whole life. Ahma insisted on living an isolated existence. She didn’t fear the villagers, but had a great distrust of travelers. With scary stories about children carried away by strangers, she managed to tamp down some of Cantor’s natural cordiality.
He raised his hand and waved at two old men sitting beneath a tree with a checkers game on the table between them. At the second house on the outskirts, a woman came
barreling out her front door, carrying a package, and motioned for Cantor to come to her.
“Cantor, Cantor, wait up.”
Mistress Golden was someone who might know about Ahma. He stopped at the gate of her white picket fence.
“Cantor, I have the last items Ahma had me sew for you.” She handed him the package. “They’re already paid for, but she never came back to get them. It’s been quite some time. She said you needed them because you were going off to school in Gilead.” The woman paused and looked him up and down. “You’re already wearing fancy clothes. Have you been to Gilead already? Are you home for a visit? She’s not ill, is she?”
Mistress Golden took a deep breath and grabbed Cantor’s arm in a frantic grip. “I was just telling my Moseph that we should climb that trail and see if she’s all right. We usually see her at least once a month, and I know it’s been longer than that.”
Cantor jumped in before she could get another breath. “That’s why I’m here, Mistress Golden. I’ve been away, and I came by to check on her. She’s not there. And the cabin is burned to the ground.”
She clapped a hand over her mouth and stared at Cantor with horror in her eyes, then turned to the house and hollered. “Moseph, come out here. Moseph, right now!”
Her husband came out the front door and down the three steps from the porch. The two men abandoned their checkers and came too. Several people from down the lane and across the road hurried to find out what all the fuss was about.
Mistress Golden removed her pinching grip from Cantor’s arm and transferred it to her husband’s. “Cantor’s been away, and he came back to the house burned and no Ahma.”
“What about the livestock?” Moseph asked Cantor.
“Gone.”
“Chickens as well as the donkey and cow?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then chances are she took them herself when she left.”
Mistress Golden dug her fingers into her husband’s arm. “Why didn’t she come down to us? She knows the village would help her out, help her rebuild even, and of course, give her a place to stay.”
Moseph winced and loosened her grip. He placed a finger on her lips, stopping the flow of words. When he removed the obstruction, she nodded, accepting his suggestion that she be quiet.
Moseph returned his attention to Cantor. “Did you see any fresh-turned earth on your land?”
Cantor closed his eyes and envisioned his walk around the cabin with Bridger. “No, no graves.”
“And Ahma’s cart?”
Ahma always left the cart at the head of the trail, right before the path turned off to the cabin. He’d passed that spot and didn’t take notice of whether her cart with two big wheels had been there.
“I don’t think it was there,” he said.
“Then she’s probably packed up what she could save and has gone somewhere. Maybe to a relative or a friend?”
“Odem.”
“That’s where I’d look first, son.”
He nodded. That made sense. She would pack up, wait for a portal to open, and go straight to Gilead. Odem lived in a small town some five miles from the city.
“Thank you, Master Golden. I’ll go first thing tomorrow.”
“If you can get us word, we’d all like to know she’s safe.
She’s lived up there for fifty or more years. She’s never been too sociable, but we’ve taken to her nonetheless.”
Cantor nodded again. “I will.”
He turned, and the village crowd that had gathered around to witness the excitement parted for him to leave. As he walked through, individuals gave him encouraging words, blessings for travel, and assurances that everything would turn out all right. He thanked them and waved good-bye with a lump in his throat. He trotted up the incline and slowed when the path became steep.
His climb back to the cabin took more time. He didn’t anticipate finding new information when he reached his burnt-out home. Dusk hung in the air when he passed the spot where the cart was not parked. He could hear Bridger humming as he got closer to the cabin.
When the dragon came in sight, Cantor was surprised to see he’d strung a hammock between two trees. Still shaped like an old man, he lolled in comfort, with the cat on his stomach.
“Did you bring dinner?” Bridger asked.
“Dinner?” Cantor shook his head. “Never thought of it.”
“My stomach has been thinking about it ever since you left.”
“Don’t you want to know what I found out?”
Bridger’s face as a human was very expressive. “I’ve known since you left the village. They had no news for you. And you’ve decided to go on to Gilead.”
“Then why didn’t you know I was not bringing any food?”
Bridger stood up, and as he shape-shifted back into his dragon shape, the hammock gathered to become his tail. Cantor’s eyes popped, and he had to consciously change his expression from astonishment to interest.
Bridger grinned, and Cantor knew he hadn’t fooled the dragon. “Okay, I’m impressed. I’d be more impressed if you’d fixed dinner.”
The dragon’s grin grew wider, and he pointed to a spot closer to the cabin. On a spit over a bed of coals, a huge fish sizzled.
“And there are potatoes roasting in the coals.”
“Bridger, I might get used to having you around.”
Bridger stood straighter and nodded his head with slow deliberations. “Yes, I thought you might.”
B
ixby had seen pictures of the Great Hall where members of the Realm Walkers Council had chambers. The mammoth structure did not have the refined lines of some of the palaces she had visited with her parents. However, the rich wood and dark colors lent the rather hefty-looking style a solid, unshakable impression. And the height of the walls, doors, and windows made Bixby feel mighty small indeed.
Totobee-Rodolow sashayed in with no obvious sign of hesitancy. She’d guided Bixby’s choice of clothes and given her ample advice regarding holding her chin up, straightening her shoulders, and keeping her visage solemn until all the paperwork was done.
The colors Totobee-Rodolow had chosen to shine in her scales matched the burgundy, forest green, and somber gold of the rugs, drapes, and furniture in the entrance hall.
“Over here.” The dragon approached a counter in the wall that revealed an office beyond.
Bixby followed closely and tried to keep from swiveling her head to see everything at once. If she tilted her head back far enough to see the painted ceiling, her crown slipped. She’d chosen the crown that calmed her and gave her self-confidence. She feared it was only working on half-power, since her knees felt weak and she constantly felt the need to clear her throat.
Totobee-Rodolow rapped her claws on the countertop, making a rhythmic call for attention. “Papers for a new realm walker, please. Let’s do this quickly so I can take her to dinner at the Sky Realm and get her settled at the Moor.”
Bixby stood on her tiptoes to see an older woman shuffle up to the counter. The clerk pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and adjusted the glasses that had slipped on her nose.
“Totobee-Rodolow! I can’t believe my eyes. I thought you would never enter the world of realm walkers again.”
“Yes, Penny Lunder, the last experience was tawdry, but I’ve found a young lady I can have faith in. I decided to give it a try and see if I still have the old touch.”
Penny Lunder leaned across the counter and whispered. “Isn’t that a bit dangerous, Totobee-Rodolow? The council won’t look kindly on someone who doesn’t fully commit. You could face fines and penalties, even social ostracism, if they think you’ve toyed with them.”
“You need not worry. I know how to deal with their chicanery.” Totobee-Rodolow patted Bixby on the shoulder. “This is Bixby D’Mazeline. I believe she’s on your records. Give her the paperwork to fill out while you find her name. She’s from Richra.”
“Oh!” The woman put her hand to her heart. “I didn’t
see you there. You gave me quite a start. I assumed Totobee-Rodolow and I were alone.”
“Not to worry, Penny, dear. Bixby is discreet. She’ll not repeat our conversation.”
“Well, yes, if you say so. I’ve worked here too long to get sacked right before I can retire with my collected payback.” The clerk handed over three sheets of vellum and a scratchy quill pen. An inkwell sat on the counter. All of this was beyond Bixby’s reach.
Totobee-Rodolow scooped up the papers, ink, and pen and took them to a chair with a side table. “You’ll be more at ease here, darling. I’m going to take a look through the registry book and see who’s been in and out of the Great Hall recently.”