One Realm Beyond Read online

  Odem didn’t often talk about things having to do with the council, but he was most likely to let a few truths slip in while he was whittling.

  “The dragons are getting blamed for the things that should be laid at the council’s door. And who’s engineering that? Since things in general have deteriorated as the council becomes more falsehearted, it’s safer to blame the dragons. Accusing the rulers could be hazardous.”

  Odem had shaken his knife in the air as if to cut down a few foe. “You see, boy. A dragon is there and you can fight it. But those responsible for evil deeds in the name of the council aren’t so easy to identify. The people involved in corruption might be anybody. Your neighbor could be a traitor. It’s not hard to understand when citizens grow wary of speaking out against the council. Too many people have disappeared when their voices got too loud.”

  Odem’s wisdom had always proved true. Cantor would be careful in his dealing in Gilead.

  After lunch, Cantor mounted Bridger and waved good-bye to his new friends. Once out of sight and closer to the actual city of Gilead, they ducked behind a large warehouse. Bridger returned to his dragon self. Jesha sat on the top of his head, between his two horns.

  “Do you often change the cat when you shape-shift yourself?” asked Cantor.

  Bridger reached up and took the cat into his hands, then snuggled her in the cradle of his arms. “No, she gets crotchety if I put her through a lot of shifts.”

  Cantor shook his head. “Doesn’t it wear you out to keep changing?”

  “Not at all. The more often I change, the suppler I remain. If I haven’t shifted in a while, I get stiff. Sometimes, I shift three or four times a day, just experimenting with what I can do. It’s entertaining when I’m bored.”

  Cantor glanced sideways at the dragon. He apparently had meant no sarcasm in his statement. He really did entertain himself when bored. And this habit had made him a most accomplished shape-shifter. Cantor found it odd that Bridger evidently didn’t come from a family of elite mor dragons. He certainly had talents beyond the ordinary.

  “But your sister doesn’t have the same talent?”

  “She spends all her talent on being beautiful. She shifts the shape of her scales, the colors, and the texture. Being something of an artist, she sculpts her body. Even the gems she adorns herself with are unique to her abilities.”

  Cantor thought back over all the styles he’d seen Totobee-Rodolow exhibit. Once she reminded him of a sleek racehorse. Once she looked like an elegant, colorful bird. And there was the time he had to look twice to determine she was a dragon and not a giant woman. Bridger’s sister certainly was a puzzle.

  “Where did she get her accent?”

  “Our mother. Mother wasn’t from Effram.”

  They came out of the alley and continued toward the center of town. With each block they passed, the streets became more crowded. Most of the people wore fashionable attire. Even the street cleaner had a decent pair of trousers, shoes, and a clean shirt. Cantor appreciated the clothes given to him by Bixby, Totobee-Rodolow, and Mistress Golden.

  Soon they would be at the Realm Walkers Council. He felt a measure of surprise that he looked forward to seeing Bixby. Without the security of Ahma and Odem to drop back on, he accepted his more recent friends as valuable comrades.

  The trip to the city was important. He also wanted to find out if anyone knew anything about Odem and Ahma. He fretted over not knowing where they were. A feeling of unease spread through him every time he thought of Ahma’s burnt cabin and Odem’s small, modest, and empty home.

  Bridger stopped at a busy corner. Cantor stepped into the street and started to cross before he realized the dragon was no longer by his side. He sprinted back to the curb.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Bridger stared down the side street. “I think we should go that way.”

  “You said the council hall was the way we’re going. Why make a detour?”

  “Just a nudge or something that there’s something down this road that we need to see.”

  “Do you get these nudges often?”

  Bridger shook his head, his lips pressed in a line. “No, never.” He stomped away from Cantor, not looking pleased with the detour.

  Cantor followed, also unhappy. “It’s late in the day. If we don’t go to the hall now, the office may be closed by the time we get there.”

  Bridger nodded, showing he understood, but the dragon crossed another road, turned toward the east, and tramped down an even smaller side street.

  If Cantor had been sure of the location of the realm walkers’ hall, he would have left Bridger to his meandering. But he didn’t know where it was, and he was loath to ask one of these bustling city-dwellers.

  To arrive there for enrollment without a dragon was a major breach of protocol. The knowledge weighed heavily on his mind. He also fretted about turning up with Bridger. Would this dragon embarrass him? Would he somehow be stuck with Bridger as his constant? The choice between no dragon constant or Bridger filling in as his constant was clear. Bridger had to come along.

  Cantor trotted to catch up. “Is someone in trouble?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  They marched another block and crossed a less busy street.

  “Bridger, the clock on that building says it’s ten minutes after four. We really should turn back toward the council office.”

  “Not much farther.”

  “What’s not much farther?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Jesha walked up Bridger’s chest and perched on his shoulder. She looked down at Cantor and mewed. The plaintive cry sounded like she sympathized with Cantor’s concern.

  At the next corner, Bridger stopped. They’d wandered far away from the busy part of town, and the streets were practically deserted. The afternoon wind chased crumpled paper and leaves down the gutter. A small empty can rattled as it joined the other trash.

  Bridger looked around as if his new location surprised him.

  “Why are we here?” he asked Cantor.

  “You said there was something down here we had to see.”

  “Oh.” Bridger again surveyed their surroundings. “I think it’s gone now.”

  Cantor felt his muscles tighten, and a groan of aggravation cranked out of his throat. “Aargh! Bridger, we wasted a half hour going out of our way for nothing.”

  “Not quite nothing.” A voice spoke from the alley.

  Cantor whirled around to find a skinny young man leaning against the bricks of the building.

  Bridger made a clumsy sort of bow. “Oh, it’s you, sir. I’m glad to see you.” He straightened and gestured to Cantor.

  “This is Cantor D’Ahma, my constant. We’re on our way to the hall.”

  “Yes.” The man smiled pleasantly and tilted his head. “I’m sorry to have to detain you for a bit.”

  Jesha made an attempt to crawl down her dragon’s arm to reach the stranger. The man came forward and took her. In his arms, she settled down to purr.

  Bridger shuffled his feet. “Always willing to answer your call, um, sir.” He glanced at Cantor and then back to the man. “Um . . . what’s your name this time?”

  “Feymare, Bridger. I am currently a physician.” He placed a hand on Bridger’s upper arm. “I need to meet with your sister. Please ask her to be at the Conicaty Bridge at half past one tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you.” He stroked Jesha’s back, then handed her to Bridger. “You should be on your way.” He looked into Cantor’s eyes, with a smile in his own. “You won’t be late.”

  A force of wind blasted dirt and debris into their faces. Cantor closed his eyes and leaned against Bridger. In only a few seconds, the air calmed. Cantor opened his eyes and found himself with the dragon and his cat on an entirely different street.

  “We’re here,” said Bridger. He started up the broad steps that ran the entire length of the building. Columns held up a solid, flat roof that
covered only the stairway.

  “Wait.” Cantor ran after Bridger and stopped him. “How did we get here?”

  Bridger looked around at the people and dragons going up or down the stairs. He leaned closer to Cantor and whispered, “Dr. Feymare did it.”

  “How?”

  Bridger shrugged. “Come on, let’s go in and get the paperwork and our room assignment.” He trudged up the steps. “We can find out where Totobee-Rodolow and Bixby are. Maybe we can see them tonight.”

  “How do you know all these details about the Realm Walkers Council?”

  “Totobee-Rodolow sent letters while she was constant to Hilarill. She told us most of what happened on her adventures.”

  The magic word struck a note in Cantor’s heart. Soon, very soon, he would be involved in adventures. Just one or two more bridges to cross, and he would be a fully accredited realm walker.

  They opened the door and stepped into the dim light of an entry hall. A huge clock on the opposite wall dominated the room. One slanting stream of light from a window high on the west wall highlighted the round face, where two filigreed black hands pointed to the time.

  Five minutes past four.

  PENNY LUNDER

  Cantor’s attention scattered. The ceiling hung high over their heads. He’d never seen a room so tall. He thought half of his home village would fit in this space. All of it, if he could stack the houses on top of one another. The paintings on the walls depicted individuals and scenes. He wanted to read the plaques under each one and study them closely.

  His eye kept returning to the clock. They’d stood in the entryway for three minutes. Eight minutes after four. All the time taken to follow Bridger’s nudge had been absorbed somehow. He tried to identify his emotions as Ahma would have him do. Intrigued, but also wary. Suspicious of his own observance. Had he glanced quickly at the clock they’d passed? Did he read it wrong? Was that clock fast or slow or even stuck? He’d ask Bridger or Totobee-Rodolow or Bixby. Someone would have an answer.

  An older woman behind a welcome desk studied Bridger and Cantor. She signaled them to come closer, placing a stack of papers in front of her. They headed her way.

  Bridger stood erect, looking a bit pompous as he took the lead in the conversation. “We are Cantor D’Ahma and Bridger-Bigelow, here to enroll in the first realm walker course. I believe you are Penny Lunder. My sister, Totobee-Rodolow has mentioned you.”

  “She arrived just this week. Would you like to know their building and room number?”

  Cantor barely listened to the chatter between his temporary constant and the long-time guardian of the council filing room. He felt the uncomfortable twinge between his shoulders, indicating the existence of many writing instruments. He edged away from the desk as he realized the pencils and pens were stored in the office where the woman worked. A dozen pens set up enough clutter in his system to force him to distance himself. He guessed there might be over a hundred in the filing room. He felt his knees weaken and headed for a bench.

  “Take these,” said Penny Lunder, “to fill out and bring them back tomorrow. It’s my duty, and most often my pleasure, to aid you during your training. I’ll make sure you know what class to attend and where to go to attend that class. I’ll keep record of each regimen you have completed. I’m also responsible for your needs. I can requisition anything but money.” She chortled. Bridger laughed nervously.

  Cantor pressed down the quivers from the writing tools and forced himself to act as if nothing bothered him. He could master this queasiness with effort. He reassured Bridger. “It’s all right. She meant the comment to be amusing.”

  Bridger returned with a strong demand. “You should be taking care of this. Come talk to Penny Lunder.”

  Cantor sauntered back with his hands clenched in his pockets. At the counter, he folded his hands on the top and leaned forward. Penny Lunder took notice of his serious pose.

  “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “Ahma raised me. I’m sure you know her name.”

  “Certainly, she’s one of the renowned.”

  “When I returned from Effram, our home had been burned to the ground. I inquired in the nearby village, but no one could give me any news.”

  Penny Lunder drew a sharp breath. “She’s missing?”

  Cantor nodded.

  “I haven’t heard any rumors.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s too late today, but tomorrow you must come back, and I’ll send you up to the recorder’s office. If anyone knows where she is, he will.”

  “Thank you.” His hands began to shake again, and he wanted to bolt from the building.

  She handed him a key and schedule and he tucked them quickly inside his tunic and thrust his hands back into his pockets. Penny Lunder reiterated they had rooms in the west wing of the Moor. Totobee-Rodolow’s and Bixby’s rooms were on the east wing of the same building.

  “Shouldn’t Bridger have a key as well?” asked Cantor as he backed away.

  “We find that most mor dragons just shape-shift their finger into a key. It’s something they learn at a very young age.” Penny Lunder smiled at Bridger, who nodded.

  After obtaining directions, the two left the building.

  Cantor trotted down the many steps, glad to be out of the hall and away from the nasty influence of pens and such. But he also regretted not having time to examine the artwork.

  “That certainly didn’t take long.” The street was loud, and using his voice he might not have been heard. “I think Penny Lunder was anxious to close up shop and go home.”

  Bridger agreed. “She took your inquiry about Ahma seriously.”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “But . . .” Bridger didn’t finish his thought.

  Cantor spoke aloud. “What?”

  “I think Feymare would have a better chance of finding her.”

  “Why is that?”

  Bridger reverted to thoughts. Cantor got the feeling that he didn’t want anyone to overhear this conversation.

  “Because he’s not like us. He’s not tied to one realm, one system of planes, or one universe. He’s not even tied to the normal progression of time.”

  “That’s why he could deliver us to the front of the council building five minutes earlier than it was when I last looked at the clock?”

  “Exactly.”

  “What is he, then?”

  “A Primen warrior.”

  Cantor continued to walk, but his mind no longer registered the street, the people, the noise, or the smells of dinner being prepared in a hundred places nearby. Bridger’s revelation shook his beliefs.

  Primen warriors were mentioned in the Volumes of Lore. These volumes were second only to the sacred word given by Primen himself. Some people believed the tales to be true. Others regarded them as elaborate legends of things that might have happened. In the Volumes of Lore, Primen warriors were messengers from Primen himself. They instructed ordinary people, protected them, sheltered them, gave them temporary powers to withstand an enemy. Accounts of their activities had diminished over time and had completely disappeared at the same time Chomountain, the great wizard of Primen, had ceased functioning.

  “Hey! Watch where you’re going!”

  Bridger pushed Cantor out of the way, just as a man with a heavy handcart struck the curb.

  Cantor fell, and someone fell on top of him. The cart filled with ball squash and melons of all sizes tilted. Cantor covered his head just as produce bounced all around him, and a large melon cracked against his head. Juice ran down his cheeks.

  Bridger fussed at the crowd. “Don’t steal the man’s fruit. Help him set up his cart and pick up what can be saved.”

  The weight of the person on top of him was lifted. He pushed up on his elbows. The red pulp of a squashed melon dropped from the back of his head to the sidewalk.

  Bridger growled. “Now, I said put the stuff back in the cart. None of you are poor enough to have to steal food.”

&n
bsp; Cantor got up on his hands and knees.

  “Put me down,” someone complained.

  Cantor stood. “Bridger, you still have that man in your hands.”

  The dragon took note of the squirming captive. “Oh! Sorry! I forgot I had you.” He placed the man on his feet and went back to harassing the passersby. “There’s lots here we can save.”

  A man sat on the curb, his head resting in his hands. Cantor approached him. “Are you all right, sir?”

  He looked up and started when he saw who spoke to him. He jumped to his feet. He stammered a bit, and his voice trembled. “I’m all right. Are you? You would have been crushed by my cart if your constant hadn’t given you that shove. A ruffian with a load of scrap metal passed me and his wagon clipped my cart. He just went on.” The man put a hand on Cantor’s sleeve. He still looked shaken. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes, yes, you needn’t be so worried.”

  The man wrung his hands. “You’re not going to report me, are you, sir? I’d never do anything to disrespect a realm walker.”

  Cantor looked at him closely. The poor man was afraid. In fact, he was terrified.

  Cantor shook his head. “No, no. This isn’t worthy of a report.”

  “Oh, thank you, thank you. I have a stall in the Blinness Way Market.” He gestured to his cart. The words Blinness Way Market decorated the side in bright orange outlined in green. “If you stop by, I’d be delighted to have you pick from my finest fruit to refresh yourself. Anytime, anytime. I’m a friend to the realm walkers, a real friend.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you are.”

  Bridger had organized urchins to clean up the broken fruit, and he’d given them permission to take the broken pieces home. People and dragons still had to pick their way through the sticky wreckage, but most of the fragments had been disposed of.