One Realm Beyond

  “To get your attention, dearest. Since we’ll be out in the world, you must polish your manners. You’re supposed to let the female enter ahead of you.”

  Bridger made a face and backed out of her way.

  “Are you pleased with our selections, dear boy?” Totobee-Rodolow’s eyes wandered over the new garments.

  “Yes, they’re very fine.” He didn’t think they would be as comfortable as the trousers and shirts made by the village seamstress. Ahma didn’t sew.

  “And why were you laughing?” she asked.

  “I imagined Ahma’s and Odem’s greetings for me should I come calling dressed up in these fancy duds.”

  Totobee-Rodolow raised her chin and looked down her elegant snout at Cantor. “Both your mentors have been to courts within the nine realms. You’d be surprised how much experience they have with high society.”

  Cantor nodded, but his private belief was that Bridger’s sister didn’t know his Ahma and Odem at all.

  “Pack up,” ordered Totobee-Rodolow. “It’s time we left Effram and headed for Gilead.” The two dragons left, but Bixby lingered.

  “I have one more thing for you, Cantor.” She dug in the folds of her skirt until she came out with a metallic bag the size of a barn cat. She held it out to him.

  He took the sagging sack and rubbed his fingers over the surprisingly soft, smooth fabric.

  “It’s cold like metal, but obviously this material is woven.”

  “Yes.” Bixby’s curls bounced in disarray as she nodded. “Totobee-Rodolow and I looked for days before we found a hampersmith with the skills to fashion a vault.”

  “This is a vault?” He turned it over and over, examining every side. “Where’s the opening?”

  “You have to make the opening.”

  “How?”

  “Pick a side that you want to be the top. Poke your finger through and pull until you have the size opening you want. You can only do this once, and it has to be you who does it. Otherwise the vault would allow that other person to retrieve things but not you.”

  The oblong bag didn’t seem to have a top or bottom. Cantor decided to make the opening along the longer side, so he could fit larger items he might want to hide away.

  Using his index finger, he carefully pushed through the material, then pulled in a straight line. The edges of the gap folded over and sealed the loose strands made by the cut. When Cantor removed his finger from the vault, a heavy string clung to him.

  “The drawstring,” explained Bixby.

  Cantor pulled and the hole drew closed.

  “This is amazing.” Cantor put an arm around Bixby’s shoulders and gave her a quick hug. “Thank you.”

  With pink cheeks, she shrugged out of his casual embrace and sidled toward the door. “See you outside. I’m going to go say thanks to Mistress Dante.”

  She slipped out into the hall, and Cantor was left to deal with all the clothes. He dressed quickly and had to admit the new outfit was comfortable. He scratched the back of his head as he surveyed the rest. He had never owned so much in his life. If he’d had to carry this without a hamper, he’d probably have left it all behind. But after Totobee-Rodolow and Bixby had been so kind, he didn’t dare forget anything.

  He packed quickly, putting the clothes back in the hamper, and tucked the vault inside his shirt, beneath the hip-length tunic he wore.

  He looked around the room to see if he’d left anything else. With a grin, he remembered he’d been carried into the room with nothing but the disintegrating clothes he wore. He picked up the hamper that was no bigger than when it had been empty and strode out to the hall, ready for adventures leading him to realms beyond his own.

  HOME

  Bixby and Cantor stood in the pasture beside the Dante home. In a field closer to the lake, the dragons extended their wings, stretching before the flight. Excited children ran between and around the adults and visitors gathered for the momentous occasion.

  Bixby leaned closer to Cantor. “Does it seem to you that the number of Dante children has multiplied in the last half hour?”

  “Some of them must be neighbors’ children.”

  “It’s amazing that they came all this way to see us off. Their abodes are quite a distance from one another.”

  “Seeing realm walkers teamed with their local dragons must be a big event. Mistress Dante said that there used to be many realm walkers and now, only a few.”

  A boy cannoned into Cantor’s legs, squeezed a short but powerful hug, then took off racing another boy. “It could be they’re moving so quickly it just appears there are more of them.”

  The movement slowed as soon as the realm walkers strolled down the hill to the dragons. Female adults and children followed Bixby and Cantor to the field.

  After a final round of thanks and good-byes, Cantor climbed onto Bridger’s back with only a girth to hold on to. Jesha sat between the dragon’s ears. Bixby jumped onto the elaborate tooled-leather saddle on Totobee-Rodolow.

  “Look at you,” he called to Bixby.

  She looked down at her dress, the saddle, and the boots that showed with her skirts pulled up to her knees. “What”

  “Do you remember how frightened you were the first time you flew?”

  “Nervous, not frightened.”

  He winked and was satisfied by the blush it brought to her cheeks. “You’re an old hand at dragon flight now.”

  She arched her eyebrows. “Shall we race?”

  Mistress Dante objected. “You two are to ride safely. You’re just like family now.”

  Cantor waved. “We will, mistress.”

  “And we’ll come back to visit,” promised Bixby.

  Mistress Dante put a handkerchief to the corner of her eyes, dabbing away some wayward tears. “This is so strange. I never cry when our men go away from home. I’m happy to see them go. But I rather like having Cantor and Bridger around.”

  Marta stopped skipping and came to her mother’s side. “It’s ’cause they aren’t Brinswikker men, Ma.”

  Mistress Dante patted the girl’s head and called to Cantor. “Come back any time, young man. You have the means to visit again. Totobee-Rodolow and Bridger-Bigelow know every portal in the nine planes.”

  Totobee-Rodolow stretched her lovely neck and batted her eyelashes at Cantor. “Well, perhaps not all of them, darling, but between Bridger-Bigelow and me, you can choose any destination and we’ll know where the portal is on Effram. We could come here first and then on to your intended location.”

  Amid hoots and hollers, the dragons rose up into the air. Soon the dragons flew together, close enough for their wingtips to brush against each other.

  Cantor announced his plans, calling across the expanse to Bixby. “I’m going to stop by my home before we go to Gilead. You can come with me or go on ahead. Dukmee may already be at the Realm Walker Council and wondering what’s taking us so long.”

  “It’s been forty days.” Bixby’s already large eyes grew bigger. “He’s probably gone beyond wondering to believing we’re captured or dead.” Bixby consulted with Totobee-Rodolow. “We’re going straight to Gilead.”

  Bridger and Cantor both nodded their approval of the decision.

  Bridger spoke over his shoulder to Cantor. “I’ll take you to the portal you came through when you first entered Effram. It’s a drifter but probably hasn’t moved too far from that point.”

  The dragons flew over the mountains. Once they reached the other side, Bixby and Totobee-Rodolow turned south, while Cantor and Bridger veered to the northwest.

  Bixby shivered as Totobee-Rodolow rose to a higher elevation. With her boots firmly wedged into the stirrups and her knees pressed against the saddle, she felt comfortable enough to pull a hamper out of her skirts and look for something to keep her head warm. Her toes were cozy in the leather boots, but her ears and nose felt icy. And her hair whipped about, making it hard to see.

  She found several possibilities for a head covering, but continu
ed digging until she unearthed a crocheted helmet. The cap wasn’t lined, so she took a few minutes to rub her fingers along the inside. Her talent allowed her to pull wisps of yarn away from the strands and mold them into a smooth shell.

  When she trapped her springy hair under the helmet, a few inches escaped the bottom edge, looking a bit like a frizzy fringe. The front came down over her forehead. She pulled at the center and extended a piece to cover her nose. At that point, she created a split and twisted the yarn outwards until she could tie the strings of the nose covering behind her head. She placed a crown over the helmet, then searched for gloves.

  Comfortable with her gloves in place and her hamper safely tucked back in her skirts, she engaged Totobee-Rodolow in a conversation.

  “Why are you fidgeting so?” asked Totobee-Rodolow.

  “My head and fingers were cold. I didn’t have anything appropriate for my head and nose, so I had to alter a knit helmet I had.” Bixby stroked the dragon’s neck in front of the saddle. “We’re doing splendidly, aren’t we? I have no trouble hearing you through my mind. We’ve bonded more than I expected.”

  “Don’t get too used to my being around, darling. This is only a temporary soiree into my former life.”

  Bixby tried her best to not sound like a wheedler. “I hope you’ll continue with me if I decide to follow the realm walker road as my career.”

  Totobee-Rodolow merely shrugged her massive shoulders in response. Bixby watched their rise and fall and decided on another tactic.

  “Totobee-Rodolow, why are the politics in the council so convoluted? My father is always saying our illustrious leaders muddy their decisions with a lot of sinister subplots.”

  “Sinister subplots have always been part of the council’s management.” Totobee-Rodolow gave a trilling laugh, which told Bixby her questions were to be treated lightly. “Hilarill and Rackama had so many schemes in the works. One time, they even had schemes going against each other, and they ended up kerflumoxed and never realized it was the other behind their failure.”

  Totobee-Rodolow kept up a steady stream of revelations of the unseemly pair. However, the dark deeds of the council apparently were off the approved list of topics for conversations.

  Bixby gave up trying to pry information out of the savvy dragon.

  According to Bridger, the portal they sought would take three days’ flight to reach. The dragon expressed enthusiasm over the time they would spend together and the possibility of deepening their bond. Cantor reminded Bridger that this was a onetime excursion. He hadn’t bonded a constant yet.

  That first night, Cantor discovered by the campfire that Bridger had a pleasing voice and carried a tune well. His musical aptitude was the first thing that he’d found likeable about the dragon. He chastised himself for that thought. If he was to be honest with himself, he realized the clumsy oaf had done many things to aid in the rescue of the captured young men.

  Unfortunately, right after that charitable thought, Bridger turned abruptly and swept his tail through the campfire. Burning logs, embers, and ash scattered over Cantor’s bedroll. His roasting dinner, a rabbit on a spit, rolled through the dirt.

  Bridger’s help in cleaning up the mess he’d made almost ruined Cantor’s blankets, and when he accidentally stepped on the hot rabbit, he hopped on one foot, holding his burnt toes. Cantor dodged the leaping Bridger and took refuge behind a tree until the camp looked like it had been trashed by mean monkeys.

  In the middle of the second night, the dragon rudely awoke Cantor by picking him up and running around in circles.

  The dragon muttered, “Thunder, lightning, so much water, so much water.”

  Cantor’s kicking and screaming brought Bridger out of his sleepwalking state.

  “What were you thinking?” he asked when the dragon put him down.

  “You were going to drown. The clouds opened up and rain fell like the whole sky was a waterfall. I had to take you to safety.”

  Only a hint of sarcasm tripped off of Cantor’s tongue. “Thanks for the rescue.”

  The last night, they found a cave. Cantor suggested strongly that the cave was too small for the both of them. Bridger took the hint and said he would sleep on the wide ledge at the opening. After three days of strenuous flight and lack of sleep the night before, Bridger conked out, his body forming an excellent windbreak against the nippy northern breeze.

  Both adventurers slept well. As the night progressed, Bridger relaxed, and in the manner of mor dragons, he grew. Cantor woke late in the morning. No light from the sun reached his corner. He stood slowly, stretching out the kinks from sleeping on rock. He soon discovered why the cave had remained dark. Bridger’s body blocked most of the entrance.

  “Hey, Bridger, wake up.”

  The dragon did not stir. But Jesha appeared in the small gap to the outside. She huddled down, and a soft purr resonated through the cave.

  Cantor sat on a boulder and tugged on his boots. He called out again, but Bridger responded with a heavy sigh and a snort.

  Cantor sauntered up to Bridger and put both hands on the dragon, carefully avoiding the razor-sharp edges of his scales.

  “Hey, dragon, we’ve got to go.” He slapped out the simple rhythm of his sister’s name. Tap. Tap. Tap. Hard tap. Tap-tap. Still Bridger did not stir. Cantor closed his hands into fists and beat out the same rhythm with more vigor.

  Nothing.

  He studied the wall of sleeping dragon before him. One whole side blocked the entry. At the top, two small openings appeared — one where Bridger’s shoulder curved downward and Jesha sat comfortably. On the other side, sun slipped in where his body sloped off to the tail. Neither opening was big enough to shimmy through, and even if he could, the sharp scales would be a problem.

  Frustration welled in his throat. “Bridger!”

  He pulled back his leg and swung a full-force kick at the point where Bridger’s side became his underbelly. The impact hurt his toes and spread back through the bones to include his entire foot.

  Still nothing.

  Moving to Bridger’s front end, Cantor reached beyond his shoulder to do the drumbeat on the scales of the dragon’s neck. He continued yelling, beating, and even kicking until he collapsed against the cave wall. During all that commotion, the dragon uttered two grunts and a long wheeze.

  After a huge sigh, he shrugged. “I might as well make coffee and have breakfast. Or perhaps it’s already noon, and I’ll eat lunch.” He glanced up at Jesha. “I can’t tell from here, cat. Can’t see enough of the outside to know which way the shadows are falling or how short they are. I don’t suppose you have a pocket watch.”

  Jesha stretched and resettled.

  Cantor’s gaze settled on the bulk of the dragon. Bridger’s sides moved up and down as he breathed in and out.

  “Dumb beast.” Cantor took what little water he had left, brewed his morning drink on a self-heating stone Bixby had given him, and ate the last of the bread and jerky Mistress Dante had provided.

  While he packed up his belongings, Bridger stretched.

  “Yo, dragon, are you returning to the world of the living?”

  Bridger jumped to his feet. He swung his head back and forth. “Huh? What’s happening? Trouble?”

  Cantor strode to the opening and stepped outside where he could look at Bridger’s face. He realized the dragon’s muscles quivered, ready for action. His scales quickly lost the cutting edges.

  “No, calm down. You overslept. That’s all.”

  “Oh.” Bridger shook like a dog, his scales rattling. “Sorry. I’m not used to so much activity. I’ll toughen up in a week or so. As my father used to say, ‘I need some fine tuning.’ ”

  “That has something to do with stamina?”

  “Um.” Bridger looked around as if trying to find something to focus on. “Um, I guess not. I think that had to do with my coordination. For stamina, he said, ‘Got to go swim upstream with the fishes.’ ”

  “Fish.”


  “No, my father said, ‘fishes.’ ”

  Cantor shrugged, thinking the conversation would go nowhere but downhill from there. “I’ve already eaten. Can you be ready to fly soon?”

  “Sure, I’ll go dip in that lake and clean up. I’d like to look fresh when I meet Ahma and Tom.”

  “You know.” Cantor rubbed the whiskers on his chin. “That’s a good idea.”

  A swim and a shave restored Cantor’s good humor. They reached the portal in the late afternoon and had to wait a few minutes while Bridger reduced his size to fit through the frame.

  The slight swoosh sound announced the opening. The view of Cantor’s homeland sent a thrill through his heart. The air crackled a bit as he stepped through, and he thought he heard a rip when the dragon squeezed in.

  They’d come home without a hitch. As soon as the dragon stood beside him on the rise beside Ahma’s cabin, Cantor pointed toward his home.

  “Just beyond that row of blackamore trees.”

  Bridger sniffed. “I smell old smoke and burnt wood.”

  Cantor pulled in air through his nose. “So do I. Let’s go see what’s up.” He raced down the hill, foreboding rising in his chest. As he passed the last blackamore, he skidded to a stop and looked at the cabin with dismay.

  Only the frame stood. Black beams and posts burned and split littered the interior. He made out the crumpled table, the cabinets next to the sink, and the metal pump slouched over like a drunken man.

  One word departed his mouth, past his clamped jaw. “Ahma.”

  ASHES

  Cantor scrambled down the hill, the sound of his descent lost beneath the clatter of Bridger’s lumbering behind him. Rocks dislodged by the dragon’s big feet scattered around Cantor, who was too concerned to bother fussing at Bridger.

  “Ahma!” he called, realizing as he did that no one was there. He jogged to the frame of the front door. The four by fours used to support the structure looked like coal.

  Bridger came to look over his shoulder. Cantor carefully touched the surface. “Cold. This didn’t happen today or yesterday or even the day before that.” He examined the floor. “And it’s rained since the cabin burned.”