One Realm Beyond

  He found nothing.

  Relieved and frustrated at the same time, he went back inside. Perhaps he could find one of Ahma’s lists still intact — anything that might give him a clue as to what she was doing the day of the fire. He stood quietly for a moment, allowing his aversion to instruments of writing to guide him to a fallen shelf, glad that for once the bizarre weakness could work to his advantage. A partially melted tin cup held the ashes of Ahma’s writing tools. He examined the area, but the blackened paper he found crumbled in his grasp.

  Next, he tromped among the ashes, using the toe of his boot to dislodge larger pieces of wood. He found a tin ladle massively warped by the heat. Several books bore a few unscathed paragraphs in the middle, surrounded by damaged pages. He looked in the cupboard where his bed resembled a huge campfire, long cold, with only bits of charcoaled wood evidence of the blaze.

  Kicking aside several pieces of small beams, he smiled at a relatively unscathed square section of the floor.

  Cantor raised his voice to call to his dragon friend. “Bridger, can you leave that for a few minutes and help me lift this beam?”

  The dragon straightened from stooping by the pot on the fire. He had a wooden spoon in his hand.

  “It depends on what’s under there.”

  “A hole in the floor. It’s where Ahma kept her valuables. The floorboards are scorched here, but it doesn’t look like they burned through.”

  Bridger put down the spoon and came to the house. Puffs of ash marked each step he took. He trampled what looked like a piece of chair, and a dish cracked with an explosive pop when he flattened it. Jumping at the snapping sound, Bridger didn’t carefully choose the next spot to put down his foot. His toes caught on a rafter, and he landed prostrate before Cantor.

  A cloud of ash billowed up and encompassed them both. Coughing, Cantor reached a hand down to help his dragon friend up. When the air cleared a bit, he pointed to the square of flooring he’d found.

  “I’ll take this end.” Cantor bent over the end of a blackened beam. “You take the other. If we can move it a few feet in your direction, I can uncover the trapdoor.”

  Bridger gasped. “Do you think Ahma’s down there?”

  “It’s much too small for her to crawl into. I’m convinced she got out of the house. Then when it burned all the way down to the ground, she decided it was time to move.”

  “That’s very reasonable. That’s probably exactly what happened.”

  “Are you ready? On my count of three. One, two, three!”

  They both grunted. With the beam out of the way, Cantor went back to push aside smaller chunks of wood. Bridger came closer to watch as Cantor felt around the edge of a plank until he found a fingerhold. He pulled off the cover to the hiding place and set it aside.

  “It’s here.” He pulled out a limp sack and held it up. “Ahma’s hamper.”

  He stood to pick his way through the rubble and out of the demolished cabin.

  Bridger followed. “Do you know what’s inside?”

  “Our stash of gold and silver. She always collected way more than I did, but I never figured what she traded to acquire the wealth. Probably herbs and advice. Believe me, she had plenty of advice. I earned traps by doing odd jobs for people. A strong back and nimble fingers come in handy.”

  He fingered the material of the limp bag. “Ahma always took care of the money. Sometimes I thought the traps just multiplied like rabbits. I’m not sure how this hamper works. In theory, the traps will have been cozy in a dimensional void. The heat from the fire shouldn’t have reached the gold. But if it did, all the traps will be melted together. That will make them awkward to use.”

  He knelt on the grass and opened the drawstring top. He sniffed and coughed. “Smells like smoke.”

  “Is it a vault? Can you stick your hand in there without getting hurt?”

  “I never even knew about vaults until Bixby explained. Yes, I can remove the traps.”

  “Well, do it! I’ve never seen more than a couple of traps at a time.”

  Cantor looked up at the dragon, his hand shading his eyes from the sun. “You’re not planning to rob me, are you?”

  Bridger blustered. “What? Me? I’m your constant. What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is yours, so it’s mine, and stealing it would be an unnecessary act.”

  Cantor laughed. “Calm down. I was just pulling your cork. And you’re only temporarily my constant.”

  “Right. Let’s see the gold.”

  Cantor put in his hand and pulled out his closed fist. Turning his hand over, he opened his fingers to display a mound of gold traps. The spheres were mostly the size of peas, but some were as large as marbles, and one the size of a walnut shell. He tilted his hand and let the gold pour back into the bag. He took out another handful and did the same.

  “My, oh my.” Bridger eyed the gold with a pleased glimmer in his eye. “It’s beautiful, dazzling, so shiny, and such a lovely color.” The dragon’s long purple and black tongue slipped out between rows of jagged teeth and traveled over his top lip first and then the bottom. He slurped as his tongue withdrew, and he smacked his lips as if finding something tasty. “Does Ahma have any gems?”

  “A few.” Cantor sniffed again. “You know that smoky smell is getting stronger. I don’t think it’s coming from the cabin.”

  Bridger jumped. “Breakfast!” He tore off to rescue what was left of their meal.

  Cantor stuffed the seemingly empty bag into the front of his shirt. He would find Ahma and deliver her savings. She couldn’t have dug through the smoldering ruins. She had needed to go for some reason, and when he found her, she’d explain.

  “Are you looking for the old man?”

  Cantor turned toward the voice. A young man, dressed in fisherman togs, strolled up the narrow village street. The horizon cut the backdrop behind him in half. His head and shoulders stood out from the ocean, while the curving lane of houses blended with the man’s tan trousers. He looked like he’d walked off a boat only moments before. Hair wild with the wind, young skin tanned like old leather, white teeth, blue eyes, and a cocky grin. He held a slicker by one crooked finger over his shoulder.

  Cantor raised a hand in greeting. “I’m looking for Odem.”

  “That’s his house. I live one house beyond. He’s been gone for four months, but that’s not unusual for him. I take care of things while he’s venturing.”

  “Then you’re Benrite Bassoon. He’s mentioned you often.” Cantor stuck out his hand to shake. “I’m Cantor D’Ahma.”

  Benrite nodded once as he took the offered hand. “And he’s mentioned you more than once.”

  Cantor walled off the tide of disappointment rising to batter him. He had counted on Odem’s help to find Ahma. Or even that Ahma would be here with him. “You haven’t seen him or heard from him in four months?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Part of that time he was with us at our home. He left just before I went venturing myself.”

  “He never sends messages while he’s away, so I never expect one. He returns the day he comes home and not a day before.”

  A rumble of laughter came from behind Cantor.

  “What was that?” Benrite leaned to the side to peek behind him, eyeing the horse standing quietly.

  He looked the animal over and then back at Cantor. “Your horse laughed?”

  “No.” Cantor glanced back at Bridger in his horse shape. “Of course not. His stomach rumbles. Probably gas.”

  The horse neighed and shook his head.

  Benrite scratched his chin and lost interest in horses that laughed or had digestive problems. “Do you want to stay at Odem’s house? He wouldn’t mind. I’ve got a couple of repairs to make from the last storm, and I could use some extra hands and a strong back.”

  Cantor looked at the sky streaked with orange and purple over the dark ocean. Gilead was close, but not close enough to reach that night. Besides, he was tired and hungry. He could help Ben
rite with chores around Odem’s place in the morning and plan how to approach the city tomorrow.

  “Fine.”

  Benrite clapped him on the shoulder. “There’s a shed out back where you can stable your horse. Then come to my place.” He pointed to the next house in the lane. Lights shone through the windows. “You can meet the family and have supper with us.”

  “I’ll need to feed my horse.”

  “I have some hay and oats meant for Odem’s donkey. You’re welcome to them.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks.”

  Benrite passed him and hurried up to his own front door. Cantor took hold of Bridger’s reins and started down the path between the houses.

  “Sounds good?” Bridger blew air through his lips, making a horsey noise of disdain. “Hay? Oats? Not oatmeal with molasses, just oats? This sounds good?”

  The shed was too small for Bridger, but an overhang at the side provided ample shelter. The extension of the roof came out more than eight feet. Two sides had half walls, and numerous poles supported the back and side. Cantor brought Bridger in through the front, an open space with not even a gate.

  “I know you’re hungry, Bridger. What do you want me to do?”

  “You could buy me a chicken or two. I can fix them the way I like.”

  “Okay, I’ll go see what I can find. Don’t make trouble while I’m gone.”

  “How can I make trouble in this lean-to?”

  “You could knock it down.”

  “That would draw attention to myself. I was thinking it would be better to keep a low profile.”

  “Exactly.” Cantor left, jogging up the lane to a place he’d seen. A sign on the fence said they had eggs and chickens for sale. He purchased two stout hens, and the seller promptly rung their necks and handed the dead chickens to Canton by the feet. When Cantor brought them back to Odem’s backyard, he hadn’t been gone ten minutes.

  Bridger had returned to his dragon shape. He took the hens and held them up for inspection. “Perfect.”

  “How are you going to cook them?”

  “I’m going to revert to savage dragon ways and flame them with my breath. The feathers and skin will fall off as ashes, and I’ll eat the cooked meat on the bone.”

  Cantor made a face. “You aren’t going to gut it? That’s disgusting.”

  “Ah, but the innards are a great delicacy.”

  “I’m glad I won’t be here to watch.”

  Bridger laughed. “I have now pulled your cork.” He sniggered with a couple of snorts to emphasize how pleased he was with his own joke. His amusement built. His shoulders shook and he clasped his hands, still holding the dead chickens by their feet across his jiggling belly.

  The limp chickens bounced and flopped in time with his laugher. The sight of lifeless hens flapping and shimmying broke through Cantor’s solemn façade. It took time for the two to quit laughing. When they had controlled their outburst to mere snickering, they broke out again in loud guffaws. They both had to wipe tears from their eyes.

  Cantor squeezed his face into a somber expression. “Weren’t you going to tell me something about cooking chicken?”

  “Oh, yes. Once the meat is cooked, I slice open the bird and clean out the cavity, which might contain impurities. I use my breath again to sear the inside. The only thing that would make it better is salt.”

  Cantor looked toward Benrite’s house. “I think I have time. I’ll get some from inside Odem’s.”

  He went to the back door and tested the knob. The lock held. Rubbing his hands together, he created a stream of energy. He touched the sides of the lock in just the right places for the energy to kick the locking mechanism out of the way. Worried that Benrite might come and catch him accessing the house without a key, he dashed in and brought a salt shaker out to Bridger.

  “Thank you, my friend.” The dragon licked his lips.

  “I best be going.” Cantor backed up as he continued to talk. “I’ll check on you before I turn in for the night. Would you rather sleep in the house?”

  “I can’t think on an empty stomach. Ask me when you come back.”

  “I left the back door open. You can go in if you want.”

  “Thanks. Now go away. You’re delaying my feast.”

  Cantor chuckled and gave a perfunctory wave to the dragon. As soon as he turned around and started toward the front of Benrite’s home, the smile fell from his face. The disappearance of Ahma and his inability to locate Odem knocked his confidence to a new low. His dreams of becoming a realm walker had always been infused with images of his two closest companions available with advice and tutelage. The prospect of going it alone did not generate any enthusiasm. Going it alone would be like eating his own cooking instead of Ahma’s. His gut would be leaden instead of comfortably full.

  Then again, so far, he’d not really been alone.

  First he was waylaid by a crazy dragon, whose skilled shifting was matched by his inane clumsiness. But Bridger was no coward. Cantor had no doubt that the dragon embodied other noble traits, such as loyalty, persistence, and honesty. With the inept Bridger guarding his back, he felt strangely secure.

  Then he’d run across Bixby hanging out in the trees. He didn’t understand her, but she was good company. Her intellect obviously towered above his. Her talents seemed to multiply as the days went by. And comparing his upbringing on the side of a mountain, removed from civilization, to her cultured background and varied learning opportunities . . . well, he came off as pathetic. She dressed strangely, but he found her peculiar clothing oddly attractive. She did look like she could unravel. Looked fragile. Acted tough. Looked silly. Acted wisely.

  Dukmee! Who and what was Dukmee? A healer? Surely more. Dukmee had come to their aid.

  No, Cantor concluded. He wasn’t alone.

  And the latest addition to the mix, Totobee-Rodolow. The older dragon played at life, with her ridiculous accent and dedication to exaggerated beauty. He’d never heard of a mor dragon shifting so that her body undulated colors or simulated jewels as part of her skin. She wore an ostentatious façade, but he believed her to be astute, knowledgeable, and clever. What an odd sister and brother she and Bridger made.

  The evidence before him was that Primen would provide companions to aid his task of becoming a proficient realm walker. And the more immediate mission of finding Ahma and Odem would also be couched with ample help. He took a deep breath and blew it out, relaxing his muscles and determining to expect the best. Ahma had taught him not to drown his prospects in doubt.

  Ahma wasn’t here, but he’d follow her advice until he found her.

  INTO THE CITY

  Cantor had a pleasant morning with Benrite, Benrite’s wife, and their three children. The wife and older girl went into Odem’s home and did some cleaning as the men tackled a few areas of minor disrepair outside.

  “Just to keep it spit-spot,” she told Cantor. “It’s not really messed up ’cause no one’s here to muck about. But there’s always dust, and I keep my eye out for varmints that might crawl in looking for a cozy stay.”

  Cantor hid a grin. Bridger had crawled in the night before looking for a cozy place to stay. He often thought of the persistent dragon in varmint-like terms.

  Jesha sat up on the eves of the house, dividing her attention between the men hammering and the children playing.

  Benrite wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm. “Where’d that cat come from?”

  Cantor grinned at Bridger’s cat. The animal had struck a pose, sitting as still as a carving with her eyes closed against the bright sun. “He’s not yours?”

  Benrite shook his head. “Probably a neighbor’s, but I’ve never seen it before.

  “I’ve always heard that cats are good to have around the house.”

  “Don’t tell the children. They’ll set milk out for it and then we’ll own a cat.”

  The two young boys spent the morning tormenting Bridger in his horse form. They brushed him and rode on
his back all around the yard, down the lane, and back again. They brushed him some more and force-fed him oats. Every time Cantor mentally asked Bridger if he wanted him to haul the little nuisances away, the dragon nixed the idea. He informed Cantor that if the boys really annoyed him, he could always change back into a dragon and eat them.

  Cantor responded with a chuckle that grew to a laugh as the dragon’s ripple of humor augmented his own.

  The rush of good feelings dwindled as Cantor realized the mental intimacy the shared laughter implied. Now he not only shared thoughts with the dragon, but emotions as well? He’d have to be careful with this tricky partner, or he’d end up with Bridger as his constant on a permanent basis.

  Bridger tagged into his thinking. “Yes, Cantor, our bond has strengthened. Do not be dismayed. We were meant to be constants. Our realm walking career will outshine the most noted heroes in the history books. The Tales of Bridger and Cantor shall be required reading for all school children.”

  Cantor groaned as Bridger bumbled into Benrite’s squash patch and demolished a row of produce.

  Benrite and Cantor did some roof repair. Cantor almost asked Bridger to lend a hand, since most of the work involved toting shingles up a ladder. But even this close to Gilead, it was tricky to introduce a dragon to a rural neighborhood. On this plane, dragons rarely appeared on the streets of normal towns unless some disaster had occurred or was about to occur.

  Odem had liked to whittle. As a boy, Cantor loved to sit at his feet, trying to guess what would come out of the piece of wood succumbing to Odem’s sharp knife. The old realm walker talked as he whittled, and most of what he said stuck in Cantor’s mind.

  The tip of Odem’s knife fashioned an eye in the side of the pinwood head. “Dragons are out of favor. The less people come into contact with real dragons, the more they believe superstitions blossoming out of fertile minds. There are old stories that are true enough. Storytellers serve a purpose when they stick to verified legends. But the new lot of minstrels and yarn spinners have no compunction at drenching the tales with fabrications. Makes you wonder what their motivation is in putting the creatures in a bad light. Embellishing tales to make them more horrific has become a profitable pastime. They get called to present at different functions by merit of their sensational stories. Each spinner attempts to outdo the others with preposterous but vastly entertaining fables.”