One Realm Beyond (24 page)

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 continued 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

C
antor 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.”

Bridger jostled his shoulder, trying to see what Cantor was doing. “How can you tell?”

Cantor pointed to a small patch of dirt showing through the rubble. “The rain washed the soot down, pooled, and then dried. You can see the pattern of a puddle there.”

Cantor circled the cabin, then made consecutively larger
circles around the property until he was some distance from the house.