“Anything I can do to help?” asked Cantor.
The old man handed him the string of fish. “Yep. Clean these and keep the innards. I’ll dig the guts into the garden soil. The bunnies have the biggest and best vegetables in the valley.” He sat back on his heels and looked around with one eyebrow quirked. “Of course, they’re the only ones who’ve got a garden.”
Chuckling at his joke, he stretched open the drawstring top to his larger sack. Out of the coarse-woven cloth came a double handful of whitish dough. Old Trout pinched off bits of dough to roll in his hands and plop into the pan.
By the time Cantor returned with the cleaned and filleted fish, a pile of golden biscuits sat on a serving platter. Cantor didn’t recognize the dish, so he assumed Neekoh had produced it. He’d used a tin plate from his own hamper for the fish.
Bridger leaned against the tree he’d claimed earlier. A huge mug with steam rising over the rim rested in his cupped hands under his chin. The dragon alternately sipped the brew and breathed the steam. His lips curved in an understated smile.
The powerful aroma of bacon wafted from the frying pan.
“Bacon?” Cantor quickened his step to peer over Old Trout’s shoulder.
“Just to give us some nice grease for the fish.”
Cantor handed him his plate. Bixby moaned, and Cantor rushed to help her sit up. He wanted to squeeze her in a tight hug, but held off. Perhaps she was fragile after her ordeal.
“Something smells wonderful,” she said. “I’m starving.”
Cantor pointed to the fire.
Bixby caught her breath. “Chomountain.”
“He says his name is Trout.”
“But?” She looked confused. “Shouldn’t he be Chomountain, or are we someplace other than I expected us to be? Where are we? Last I remember we were gliding over those pretty plants in the water.”
“That was yesterday. Today we’re in Bright Valley.”
“Isn’t that where Chomountain is supposed to be?”
“Supposed to be, but apparently isn’t.”
Dukmee struggled to sit. Neekoh quickly gave him a hand, and the mage stood. He stretched and groaned. “I feel like I slept for a month.”
Neekoh grinned. “Only a day, sir.”
Dukmee squinted at the old man. “Chomountain?”
“No, sir.” The young ward guardian stood as if on duty, stiff and proper. “Old enough to be, but not. He remembers things. Chomountain would have forgot. He’s Old Trout, and he’s making breakfast.” Neekoh’s stance melted with his enthusiasm. “There’s biscuits already, and tea. And another kind of tea if you have a sore throat. And bacon, and there’s going to be fish.”
“Good. I’m starving.”
“That’s what Bixby said. And Old Trout said you were probably hungry. He thought the smell of breakfast cooking would wake you up, and it did.”
Dukmee finger combed his hair. “Does he know where Chomountain is?”
“No, but he says he’ll help us look.”
Dukmee walked over to the fire and extended his hand. “I’m Dukmee. Pleased to meet you.”
“Hands are busy right now, but pleased to meet you as well. Grab yourself a biscuit and fill it with bacon. Neekoh, get this man some hot tea. Fish’ll be ready in two ticks.”
“How long have you lived here?” asked Dukmee.
“For as long as I can remember, and I suspect some time before that. Love it here. The fishing can’t be beat. Do you fish?”
“No.”
“Well, you and the other folks can look for that Chomountain fellow. That young man Cantor and I’ll bring in lunch and supper.”
“We do have some other things we need to do.” Dukmee took a bite of his hasty sandwich. “Oh my, that’s good.”
“Yep. Most everything in Bright Valley is good.”
NO PLACE LIKE TROUT’S HOME
Bixby marveled over the old man’s home and garden. “Look, Cantor, he makes his own shoes and cloth and everything. He made this furniture. He made the rug. It’s all homemade. Even the oiled paper in the windows.”
Cantor and Dukmee sat at Old Trout’s table with their scrolls from the Library of Lyme spread out. Cantor didn’t seem to be sufficiently impressed, so she went on. “There’s a smokehouse and a drying shed for his herbs. And he showed me where he has cold storage in a cave nearby.”
Dukmee looked up briefly. “We’re only going to be here a short while, Bixby. We need to move on to building defenses against the invasion.”
“What about finding Chomountain?”
Cantor turned in his chair to look at her. “I think this was a case of being led astray by good intentions. Chomountain is probably not here and never has been. Trout would know. We’ll look around for a day or two, but then we must remember our primary goal.”
“Trout wouldn’t know. He’s old, but not as old as Chomountain. And besides, what if he is Chomountain and doesn’t remember?”
“Then he wouldn’t remember things that didn’t happen, would he? And Trout remembers coming here with his family and settling in this house.”
Dukmee pulled another scroll closer. “Try to focus, Bixby. Remember our goal.”
Bixby tired of the repetitive declarations of their priority. She and Dukmee had talked of nothing else for months. Then Bridger and Cantor had arrived, and that’s all they talked about. “I know, I know. Stop the invasion. Save the world.”
Old Trout came into the room holding Jesha. He had invited them all to stay with him, and when he discovered the cat, he fussed over her, greatly pleased with a new animal. He stopped abruptly when he saw his littered table, and put Jesha on the floor. “What have you got there?”
“Histories and maps.” Dukmee picked up a scroll and offered it to the old man.
He put his hands up and waved a “no thanks” gesture. “Those would be of no use to me. I can’t read.”
“Can’t read?” Bixby looked around the room. No bookshelves. How could he live all alone and not have books?
“Don’t need to read.” He indicated the cabin around them. “I’ve got plenty to keep me busy. I’m always thinking of something new to make. Sometimes the ideas just come to me in pictures, like I’ve seen the thing before, only I can’t remember exactly where.” He made a thoughtful face, then shrugged. “And I enjoy fishing. I really enjoy fishing.”
If the joining of their voices in a three-way silent conversation made a noise, it would have been a resounding clang as Bixby, Cantor, and Dukmee rushed to consult with each other over this revelation.
Bixby’s eyes nearly popped. “He can’t be Chomountain if he doesn’t read. How can the right hand of Primen not read? He’d read and read in every language there is, wouldn’t he?”
Cantor looked swiftly from Dukmee to Bixby. “How can he build all of this without plans or even pictures? Surely only Chomountain would have that knowledge in his head and ability in his hands.”
Dukmee twisted his mouth and then relaxed it. “If Chomountain forgot, then he wouldn’t remember how to make things. If Trout can’t read, then he’s not Chomountain. It appears to be obvious even as we try to force Trout into the role of Cho. He is not.”
Dukmee put the scroll back on the table. “These histories tell us of a time when the planes were invaded by people from the two realms known as Lyme Minor and Lyme Major. Their planes interpass with ours at great intervals of time because of their different orbit around the sun.”
Trout rocked back on his heels. “I know where there are scrolls like that here in the valley.”
“I knew it!” Cantor snapped his fingers. “Bridger and I have been to so many ruins, we should be able to sniff them out. Those towering rocks away from the valley walls are part of an ancient structure, aren’t they? Do you know what it was?”
“No, but I thought this Chomountain fellow might be there. I’ve never been interested in it, so I haven’t explored much. But there are stairs going underground.” He pointed to the t
able. “And there are rooms still intact where there are those things and pictures and statues. I do go to look at the art, sometimes.”
Cantor stood. “Let’s go check it out.”
Old Trout shook his head. “I have some snares I need to set. We might have quail or pheasant for dinner. You don’t need me to look at that sort of thing.” He nodded toward the maps.
“I’ll go with you.” Bixby moved to stand between Cantor and Trout. “I’d like to go, and I think Bridger should stay here and rest. The tea has helped him a lot, but a nap this afternoon would be better than flying us to the ruins.”
“I’ve got horses you can ride, if you know how.” Old Trout went to the door, stuck two fingers in his mouth, and whistled, a high, sharp sound that made Bixby want to cover her ears.
Trout turned back. “Now these are wild mountain horses, or their ancestors were, anyhow. When I first took to riding ’em, they were skittish as water on a hot pan. But these, well, they grew up knowing me. We’ll wait a bit and see how many show up. You have to ride without saddle or bridle. I’ll show you, and if you take to it, you can ride all over the valley.”
Cantor moved to the door. “We’ve ridden before, with and without tack.”
At the sound of hoof beats, a smile broke out on the old man’s face. Following Trout outside, Bixby joined Neekoh, who stood on the porch with his mouth dropped open and the beauty before them reflected on his face.
Two dozen small horses and five large steeds thundered across the meadow and stopped in front of the house. The horses whinnied, and Old Trout whinnied back. They shuffled for position as close to the old man as they could get.
Bixby laughed. “They’re beautiful, and they have such nice manners.”
Dukmee and Cantor paused on the porch to watch.
Trout continued his round from horse to horse. He greeted each one, petting their noses and necks, and talking to each in turn. Now and then a horse paused as if they understood his words and would speak back to him. A few stayed in the yard before the house and some left, loping back to the woods.
“These here’re people,” said Trout, gesturing over his shoulder. “Like me, but not as old. They want to go to those old rock buildings. I figured you’d tote ’em if you got a mind to.”
Trout turned to his company. “Any of these three will do for Neekoh and Bixby. Probably Dukmee wouldn’t be too heavy a load, but his feet would pretty near hang to the ground. The two bigger horses would do for him and Cantor.”
The horses pranced a bit, and one of them playfully butted the old man with his nose.
He laughed and pushed the pretty roan away, instead singling out the light ginger horse and petting her lovingly as he went to her side. “This is Dani. She’s a good girl. Look here now, and I’ll show you how to get on and give you some pointers.
“These horses are smart. They almost read your mind.” Taking the mare’s mane in one hand, Trout gave a hop and swung himself onto her back. “A little squeeze of the legs to go, sit back a touch to stop, lean if you want to turn.” He demonstrated, and Dani went in a tight circle until he sat up straight. “Like I said, they’re smart. But I will say they don’t like to stand around. If I ride one to a fishing hole, by the time I’m done, he’s gone. But you can always whistle ’em back.”
The horses nickered as if gossiping among themselves, then stared across the meadow.
“Eager to get going. We’d better hurry.” Trout made introductions to the larger horses and assigned a horse to each rider.
“I don’t think I’ll go,” said Neekoh. “I’ve never been around horses, and I don’t think I’d be any good as a rider.”
Trout patted his shoulder. “You’ll surprise yourself. You got just the right temperament to be a natural rider.”
Bixby exchanged a look with Cantor and hid a smile behind her hand. His face plainly said he, too, wondered what kind of temperament made a horseman.
“Come here, Neekoh, and meet Taffy.” Trout led the reluctant young man to a glossy brown mare. “She’s just right for you. She has a sense of humor, and I feel you appreciate a lively, happy attitude toward life.”
“That is a fair assessment of Neekoh.” Bixby spoke just to Cantor’s mind. “Do you still have doubts about his reliability?”
“Yes and no. I don’t see him as malicious. But I don’t think he’s dependable, because I don’t think he has all the facts. He just has knowledge that has been handed down from father to son. After so many generations, a few details are bound to have been lost.”
Trout had Neekoh mount Taffy. “Just sit there and get used to her being underneath you. You don’t have to go anywhere on her until you’re comfortable.”
Neekoh gave a nervous laugh. “Does she know we aren’t going anywhere?”
“She does.”
Trout had each of them mount up and watched them as they gave simple directions to their horses. Bixby sat on Dani and quickly fell in love with the sweet horse’s personality.
Cantor rode the largest horse. Olido frisked a bit under his weight, as if showing that the big man was not a problem to the stallion. Dukmee had ridden bareback before and easily communicated to his horse, a handsome mare named Breez.
Neekoh lost some of his timidity while watching the others. With his grin back and his excited voice under control, he followed Trout’s instructions, growing visibly more confident with every turn and halt Taffy accomplished.
When they felt sufficiently practiced, Trout gave them instructions on the shortest, easiest route to the ruins and waved them along.
“I think he’s glad to be rid of us,” said Bixby when they were out of sight of the cabin.
“Probably,” Dukmee agreed. “After all this time alone, five visitors and a cat must be overwhelming.”
Bixby laughed. “He likes the cat.”
“He does, indeed,” Dukmee agreed with one of his rare smiles.
“I wonder if Trout would like to go with us when we leave.”
Cantor, riding on the other side of her, spoke up. “I don’t think so. I think he’s content here.”
“He’s very old.” Bixby shook her head, and her wild white curls flailed her cheeks. “What if he were to get sick, or fall and break a bone?”
“If he were to die, I think he would prefer to die here.” Cantor sounded reasonable, and it irked Bixby.
“If I were to order the universe, I would arrange it so that we find Chomountain and introduce him to Trout, and the two of them would become fast friends.”
“Don’t we need Chomountain to come with us?” asked Cantor.
“Well, he could do that. Then after we have quelled the Lymen invasion, he could come back here and do his right hand of Primen business from the comforts of this valley.”
Dukmee chortled. “Bixby, the purpose of the right hand of Primen is to walk among the people, acting as judge and mediator and educator. It would be difficult to share his wisdom from isolation.”
“I suppose that’s why I’m not arbitrator for the world. I forget important details.”
Dukmee laughed. “Bixby, when you become a mother, you’ll have the ordering of a small universe. It’s a weighty job. But you shall excel. You have the right temperament to be a natural mother.”
“What does that mean, exactly?”
“I have no idea, but it sounded good when Old Trout said it.”
Dukmee sat up straighter. “I find it very satisfying to be a mage.”
Bixby laughed. “When you aren’t being a realm walker or healer.”
“Or a scholar,” Cantor added.
“I find it good to be content in whatever role I find myself.” Dukmee ignored Cantor’s humph.
Bixby laughed again. That’s one of the things she liked about Dukmee. He had something to say for every occasion. And she liked Cantor because he would never let Dukmee get too full of himself. They made good companions.
COMPANY
In a forest, the path narrowed. Dukmee and
Neekoh led the way, and Cantor fell back to ride beside Bixby. In green lace and brown ruffles, she looked as lovely as she ever had. He watched her handle Dani, touching the pretty mare’s neck and speaking quietly to her. Not that the horse needed soothing. Even when a fresh breeze stirred some of the trailing bits of Bixby’s clothing, neither her horse nor his took exception.
“I’m glad you’re back,” he said.
Bixby tossed him a puzzled look. “What do you mean? I didn’t go away. You did. You left me at my parents’ palace and went questing with Bridger.”
“I meant while you were sleeping.” Oh, no. He’d opened the door. Now he would have to talk about her feelings when he left so abruptly.
“Oh.” She shrugged. “That didn’t feel like going away. In fact, it didn’t feel much like anything.” She tilted her head. “However, two years ago, it did not feel good when you went away with Bridger.” Her eyes met his for a moment before she looked away. “I resented your sudden departure. We’d been partners in trying to stop the council. I thought we’d go on being partners.”
Cantor reached to put a hand on her shoulder. “Your father gave me a list of places I might find Ahma and Odem. It never occurred to me that you’d be ready to leave home so quickly. I’m sorry.”
He watched for her expression to change, to lose that hurt look he’d caused. Since they’d met again in the Library of Lyme, she’d acted like the same friendly Bixby. He’d had no idea she carried a pain.
“I’m so glad you told me, Bix. You know I wouldn’t hurt you on purpose.”
She smiled and tossed her hair. “Now that would be something. Here I saw a little bitty old slight as something to moan and groan about. Insensitive was one of the kinder words I used to describe you. If you were to hurt me on purpose, I’d have to come after you and make you see the error of your ways.”
“I remember how well you fight.” He smiled. “I’ll be sure to be on my good behavior.” He made an observation about the beauty along the trail and led the conversation to a safe topic. He liked Bixby a great deal, but he didn’t want to form the habit of emotional talk. He’d do a lot for her, but he wasn’t ready for that.