Some facts stood on their own: Each plane held a realm. Each realm operated independently of its neighbors. Gravity kept them from floating away from each other, but didn’t keep them at a predictable, precise distance.
Many years before, Cantor had seen the plane of Alius when his realm and the other had drifted dangerously close. The other realm looked like a pale, mottled yellow disk floating high in the blue sky.
Odem told him that once, in ancient times, Alius and Dairine had collided. They’d bounced, and each floated out of the other’s domain.
Odem had cleared his throat and looked Cantor in the eye, the signal that what he was about to say held great importance. “The terror in the minds of the people far outreached the authentic threat of the situation. Some of our people ran to the other side of the plane and jumped off.”
“Couldn’t the guild do something? Aren’t they in charge of organizing the powerful and defending the weak?”
At the time of the discussion, Odem had wagged his head in disgust as he tried to explain.
“The guild had less power back then. Chomountain the Wise was wise. He walked among the people on every plane. Then he disappeared with no one to replace him. He took over from Avamountain. The Age of Ava was tranquil. Dargamountain passed his mantle down to Ava. And before Darga was Sentarmountain. The Age of Sentar was prosperous.
Cantor sought to impress his mentor. “What about Ladomountain? Didn’t he come before Darga?”
Odem scowled at Cantor. “Of course, he did. Between Darga and Sentar, I’m glad to see you’re paying attention. I wasn’t able to trick you.”
The old man rubbed his palms over the thick material of his trousers. “But we’re talking about power. Without the check of the right hand of Primen, the guild is powerful beyond common sense. If they’ve grabbed the power, they took it from someone. Who?”
He cocked an eyebrow in Cantor’s direction. “Is it coincidence that no action has been attributed to the old wizard for many, many years? Some say Chomountain is dying.”
That was the last time Odem talked openly about the guild. For the last several years, both Ahma and Odem had refused to talk of the guild or the missing wizard. As far as Cantor knew, kind and just Chomountain remained elusive. And from the worry etched on his mentors’ brows, he discerned that the guild became ever more a concern. When he asked questions now, Ahma warned him it was better not to talk about those who had the power to harm.
So here he stood, reduced to eavesdropping to glean information. Odem gestured at the model floating over the table. “Ahma, you can see, can you not, that Richra and Derson are edging too close?”
Ahma nodded.
Cantor watched, enrapt, as two spoons lost their bearings, slid sideways, and crashed together. They fell, knocking the saltshaker out of the way. Before the three planes stabilized, the woodchip representing Alius began to spin. Slowly, then with more speed, the plane tilted one way and then to the opposite side.
Ahma gasped. “The worst I’ve ever seen, Odem. Can we alter the course of Richra and Derson?”
“Perhaps.” Odem allowed his replica of the planes to collapse. The items clattered as they fell onto the table.
Cantor took a step into the room. “Will I be allowed to help?”
Odem jerked around, then stood to come pound Cantor on the back. “There you are. Today’s the day. By the time you put your head on the pillow tonight, you’ll be an official initiate.”
“And then I’ll be eligible to help, right?”
Odem put his large hand on Cantor’s head and rubbed. Cantor tried to duck, but Odem snagged him in a headlock and continued to torture his scalp.
“Ahma! Pull this brute off of me.”
The old lady cackled and winked, causing Odem to release Cantor. The old man backed up until he was stuck to the wooden doorframe behind him. He gave Ahma an accusatory look. Cantor slid past and rested one hip against the table. Ahma picked up one of the forks and jabbed his side. “Move. No manners! Did Enid the Cow raise you?”
Cantor straightened and tossed his impudent grin at Ahma and then Odem, who still stood pinned to the entryway.
“Thank you, Ahma.” With a bow, Cantor presented the fish to the old lady who stood for grandmother, as well as mentor, in his life. “Our dinner.”
“And the only reason I helped you escape that old reprobate. Didn’t want you to drop our meal.” She nodded at Odem, and he stepped away from the door.
Odem shivered as if shaking his body free of the force that had bound him. Not by word or expression did he show any annoyance at Ahma’s prank. He sank into his wooden chair and fingered the utensils he’d used as a model for the problems he’d observed.
The kittens poured through the opening and circled Ahma’s legs. She shooed them away, then with the same dismissive voice she ordered Cantor to bathe.
“You smell like fish and sweat and river sludge. I’ll not have you at my table, reeking. Especially tonight.”
Cantor bobbed her another fancy bow and ran out the door.
Ahma followed and stopped in the entryway to holler. “Brainless boy, come back and get clean clothes!”
Cantor stopped in his tracks, then ran backward to the cabin. He kissed Ahma’s cheek as he passed her to enter, and then again, when he left with a wad of clean clothes under his arm.
“The soap!”
He backed up and grabbed a bar beside the front door where a bucket sat ready for washing hands. He winked at Ahma and cartwheeled, using the hand that did not hold soap and clothing.
She grinned. “He’ll never grow up.”
Cantor twirled in place to give his Ahma a jaunty bow.
“Right.” Odem’s chortle garbled the words, but Cantor understood him. “And that’s what will make him good at his job. Energy, pluck, quick on his feet and in his mind. He’ll lead the council in a merry jig.”
Cantor did a last cartwheel, but refrained from continuing. His feet now trod over slippery shale on the hill beside the cabin. But he was pleased. He’d worked hard for Ahma’s smile. Playing the clown often pulled her out of grumpiness when nothing else would.
Odem was more amenable. But his approving words were a balm to Cantor’s doubts. Many times he thought that the ordinary existence he lived did little to guarantee success in his fated profession. But Odem thought highly of what few skills he had. Perhaps he would be an acclaimed realm walker. He’d see soon enough if he was fool or knight. One could not fake being a realm walker.
Cantor took off at a faster pace, eager to finish this chore and get back to a fine fish dinner, more talk of the planes, the initiation, and perhaps an invitation to accompany Odem on his journey to set things right between Richra and Derson.
He did his cleansing in the tepid flow of water from an underground spring that fell from the rocks into a pool deep enough to dive into and wide enough to provide a decent swim. The water from the depths of the plane was warm, unlike the snow run-off in the lake.
He soaped up, rinsed off, and soaped up again. Following the second dive to the bottom to remove every bubble clinging to his skin, he hauled himself out and shook his head. Water splattered the bushes around him. He looked for a towel and realized he’d forgotten to bring one.
Grinning, he pulled on his shirt first, then wrangled the rest of his clothes over his damp skin. He plowed his fingers through his wet hair, taming the curls only marginally. A yellow songbird landed on a branch, tilted its head, and let out a trilling whistle ending with what sounded like a hiccup. It repeated its performance several times.
“I hear you.” Cantor leaned back with his hands at his hips, puckered his mouth slightly to whistle, and echoed the yellow bird’s song.
The bird hopped about the branches, twittering in excitement. It stopped to sing again. Cantor obliged with a reply.
“I’ve got to go now, bird. Ahma is fixing dinner and tonight is a special” — he held up a finger — “make that a very special night.”
/> He went out of his way to pass through the edge of the forest where he gathered a variety of greens and herbs. Ahma loved fresh greens in a huge bowl of salad. He hoped his old mentor would be in a good mood for the initiation. He plucked sweet tamaron from a vine. The tiny purple buds would spice up the vinaigrette. Another favorite for Ahma.
Perhaps the initiation would be easy, and Ahma would not growl and grumble over all the wasted years she spent educating him. The smell of fried fish and maizy bread wafted from the cabin. Odem played his fiddle. Ahma sang with a pure voice for one so old.
The fiddling stopped as soon as Cantor crossed the threshold.
“There he is,” said Odem. “Let’s eat.”
“You ate a bowl of soup in the middle of the afternoon.” Ahma shook her stirring spoon at her guest. A blob of thick gravy splatted on Odem’s faded green shirt. Ahma reached over and swiped at the spot with a rag. “You shouldn’t be hungry for hours yet.”
“Not hungry, dear woman. Craving the taste of your delicious meal on this old deprived tongue.”
“Deprived tongue?” She scoffed. “You’ve a depraved mind, I’m thinking.”
Cantor crossed the room, threw his dirty clothes into his bed closet, and then gave Ahma the produce he had gathered. “The words aren’t the same, Ahma. Depraved means he commits evil deeds involving blatant turpitude.”
Ahma squinted at him. “I never taught you the word turpitude. Where are you coming up with words I didn’t introduce you to? Have you been down to the village on your own? You know that’s dangerous.”
Before he could remind her of the books Odem left with him, she continued. She addressed the kittens climbing the dog Tom and sliding down his sides as he lay on his blanket in a corner. “This Cantor thinks he’s smart. Time he went out into the world to learn how ignorant he really is. I’m hoping he lives through the disappointment of only having a mediocre mind, a limited talent, and no possible means of advancing his lowly life on his own.”
Cantor sighed. So his role tonight was scoundrel and knave, not beloved sent by Primen to give her life purpose.
Although the meal smelled and tasted wonderful, Cantor found it difficult to eat with his usual gusto. When would the initiation begin? How long would it take? If he flubbed an answer, would he get a second chance?
He tried to think of a calm night sky filled with stars and distant platters floating in space. Soon he would be traveling to the planes alone. No Ahma to chaperone. No Odem to pull him out of an interesting exploration. Perhaps a mission assigned just to him. He’d helped Odem on several occasions when the old realm walker tackled a problem on some other plane. But in those cases, he’d helped by carrying knapsacks, setting up a camp, and fixing meals.
“Now, son!” Odem’s voice boomed in the small cabin. “It is time to commence your initiation.”
Ahma rose from the table. “Let me clear off all this clutter first.”
Cantor clenched his jaw. That would delay them another hour while the old lady put every blessed object, after being scrubbed and polished, in its right place. Suppressing a sigh, he rose to help. Maybe nurturing a better mood in his mentor would hasten the beginning of his initiation.
“Nah,” Odem said. “The boy’s waited long enough. Don’t exasperate the youth.”
Ahma muttered but sat down again. She folded her hands on the tabletop and gave her attention to her friend.
Odem winked her way, then turned a serious face to the initiate. “Question, Cantor. Answer me this. Who has first claim to your allegiance?”
Cantor’s mind raced. He’d expected questions about herbs, travel safety, levels of guild standing, diplomatic tactics, history of the realms, but nothing like this. Perhaps it was a trick question. They’d never discussed allegiance. Surely if this concept was important enough to be the first question, they should have discussed it.
Ahma patted his hand and gave him an encouraging smile. “Take your time, Cantor. We can wait as long as it takes for you to get comfortable with your answer.”
At least he was back to treasured apprentice. Ahma’s kindness permeated her voice, her expression, and even her posture as she sat on the stool. All fine and good, but he had no answer.
Think this through. Think. He must. He could come up with the right answer if he put his mind to it.
Was his first allegiance to Ahma and Odem for the love and care and guidance that had brought him into his twentieth year? The answer would have to be just one of them, so Ahma would be correct. That didn’t seem right. The statement seemed too small.
Allegiance to Dairine? His realm? Realm walkers defended the weak, guided those of little talent to solve problems, and cleared away obstacles that caused the same to stumble. But realm walkers worked on various planes, not just the one called home. No, this allegiance needed expanding.
To the guild? That could be it. The guild organized, trained, promoted, and provided for the realm walkers so that they could do their jobs. Odem’s distrust of the guild dampened his desire to name the guild. A mystery there tainted an allegiance to these powerful men.
The wizard? An inept, absent, dying wizard? Perhaps when the leader had been in the prime of his life, but now? Odem’s voice flowed through his memory. “Even the wizard is under authority.”
“Primen!” Cantor blurted out the word, and then hoped it was right. It felt right. It felt big enough. “Primen, He who spun the worlds to life and spins them still.”
Both Ahma and Odem nodded with smug pleasure on their faces.
“You did well.” She started to rise. “Now we put the house to order before turning in.”
“But — but — ” Cantor stuttered. “That’s it?”
Odem chuckled and picked up dishes to take to the counter. “Allegiance to the proper authority is the only thing that matters, son.”
“But I don’t remember you teaching me anything at all about Primen.”
At that, Odem leaned back his head and laughed. Nahzy, outside, brayed in answer. “Then how’d you learn it, boy?”
Pinpricks awakened memories, songs of praise, songs of thanksgiving, stories of the forefathers, a word here and a word there. Everything Ahma and Odem did reflected their allegiance. He’d absorbed the concept rather than reading it in a book or listening to the particulars in a lecture. He knew to whom he owed his allegiance.
DRAGON REALM
Cantor carried split wood to the stack between two massive oak tree trunks. The crude wall of logs towered above him, enough fuel to keep them warm all winter. For a long, frustrating week, Odem had helped Cantor begin the woodpile. Cantor begrudgingly admitted that to leave without making provision for Ahma’s winter would dishonor the code of the realm walkers. Even though winter was months away, Cantor wisely refrained from pointing that out. Finally, business lured the old man away from the restful cabin. He left, muttering about retirement.
The young realm walker paused when he saw a portal opening. Through the breach that allowed him to see into another realm, he spied a dragon flying over a thick forest of dark evergreen. He dropped his burden and started toward the arched gap. Tom just as quickly took up guard duty, standing between Cantor and the portal.
With a disgusted sigh, Cantor gave up his rush to adventure. “I know, Tom. I’m ready to go alone, but I have to get permission.”
The dog sat with his mouth open and tongue lolling out, a doggy grin. Cantor went to him, knelt, and gave his ears and ruff a sound rubbing. The dog was almost like a brother, a big brother, one who had constantly kept an eye on him since Cantor learned to crawl.
From an early age, Cantor had been fascinated by the gaps in walls, trees, landscapes, lakes, and houses. The images of distant lands filled the gaps. He’d tried to pass through the portals when they appeared and before they snapped shut. But Tom’s sole job when watching the crawling babe had been to keep him on this side of the arching doorways. When Cantor toddled, Tom herded him back to Ahma’s side. When Cantor ran, Tom shape
-shifted from dog to dragon and swooped in to snag the determined boy before he slipped into another realm.
All these years later, Tom still guarded Cantor from his own curiosity. They entered the realms many times, but always with Ahma or Odem at their side.
If legends were true, he’d been born somewhere else. A village wiseman would have recognized a babe’s potential to be a realm walker. This sentinel would notify the guild, and the guild would send a messenger to take the child and deliver him or her to a suitable mentor. Cantor would never know of his real parents. He didn’t even know which plane he’d been born on. Not that it mattered. He loved Ahma and Odem as if they were written in the records as his ancestors. And Dairine was his home.
Both dog and boy heard Ahma’s burbling laugh as she climbed the path, returning from the village.
“I’m coming. I’m coming,” she called. “This time you’ll go through, Cantor, on your own. It’s time you acquired your dragon, so be patient a moment longer.”
Cantor raced down the path and gathered Ahma in a big hug, lifting her off her feet and spinning in a circle.
She batted at his shoulder with a free hand. “Put me down, you knuckleheaded oaf. Have some respect for your elders.”
He lowered her to the ground and planted a noisy smacker of a kiss on her wrinkled cheek. “We must hurry,” he said, pointing back toward their cabin. “It could close any second.”
She walked calmly beside him as he explained that the gate had been open for quite a few minutes.
“It will be there when we get there,” said Ahma in a raspy voice that rattled with her intake of each breath. “And if it’s not, another will open shortly. You’re drawing them to you whether you know it or not. That’s how I know your time has come.”
She limped and wheezed until he could stand the slowness no longer. He plucked her up in his arms, carrying her like he would a child. She weighed less than a big sack of potatoes.
“You should’ve ridden to market in the cart.” He squeezed her. “Whatever possessed you to walk all that way when Midge is perfectly willing to pull you up the mountain path as well as down?”