One Realm Beyond (5 page)
Cantor jerked away and spun to face the shape-shifted dragon. “Enough already, Bridger. Leave me alone.”
Following Ella’s lead, the children jumped up and down, clapping their hands.
Bella began a chant. “You
do
know the horse. You know his name. You
do
know the horse. You know his name.”
“Be still!” Cantor held up a hand to command their silence. To his surprise, they obeyed and stood quietly awaiting his next pronouncement.
He gestured toward Bridger, who had taken to nibbling all the leaves within range. “He does not belong to me, and I don’t know anything about him.” He glared at his unwanted companion. “Other than he’s a nuisance.”
Bridger twisted his neck. With a lower lip pulled up in a
sneer, the dragon snorted. Shaking his head, he went back to his snack.
Ella had her hands on her hips again. “You know his name.”
Cantor shrugged. “Lucky guess.”
“Ha!” She rolled her eyes.
“You don’t want him. Can we keep him?” asked Bella.
Cantor had no right to give away a dragon even if it was presently a horse. He didn’t have any claim on the horse, and he didn’t want to claim the dragon within. He pondered a moment, hoping to come up with any plausible way to leave the horse with the enthusiastic children. Bridger would certainly have a loving family. He needn’t divulge that the horse was really a dragon.
Banishing his dishonest thoughts, he gestured to the scene behind them. “Is that your farmhouse among those trees?”
As if a dozen houses dotted the landscape, all three children twisted to look in the direction he pointed. One two-storied home nestled among a grove of appleton trees.
“Yeah, that’s our house.” Bella faced him again. “You want to come home with us for lunch?”
“Is that the custom in this land?”
The three children gasped and looked upon him with wide eyes and round mouths dropped open to show their surprise.
“You’re from somewhere else!” Bella squealed. “A traveler? A real traveler?”
Ella nudged her sister. “Of course he’s a traveler. We knew that.” She faced Cantor and lifted her chin in a haughty posture. “In our land, it is customary for you to come
to
the house, but not
into
the house. We’ll eat on the porch.”
Cantor didn’t move. Staring with a frown at their house, he pondered his choices. A free meal was always welcome.
The delay would be minimal. He might get rid of Bridger. He might learn significant news of the local happenings. A realm walker needed to be aware of current events wherever he traveled, thus avoiding a stumble into feuds.
Ella blew out a forceful sigh of exasperation. “Come to our home. Come on! You can tell us where you’ve traveled. Have you been to Bingar?”
Bella hopped, squealed, and clapped her hands. “There’s a stage theater in Bingar.”
Without waiting for Cantor’s response, the older sister spat out another possibility. “Tommatt?”
“They’ve a bakery that makes fancy sweets,” said Bella.
Eddie nodded his approval of baked treats.
“Gristermeyer?” asked Ella.
Bella’s eyes grew big. “Three hotels. Three!”
“Joshnaught?”
The brother’s thumb came out of his mouth with a pop. “A fire station with a bell. Brrrrring, ding, ding, ding, ding.”
Cantor had not been to any of these places. He didn’t wish to lower his status as a respected traveler, so he didn’t mention his limited experience of these exciting towns.
To distract his audience, he nodded toward the farmhouse. “It’s time to introduce me to your parents. It is unseemly for us to chat away when I’m a stranger.”
All three children laughed.
Ella snorted and managed to blurt out, “You’re only a little bit strange.”
The children raced down the dirt lane leading to the grove of trees. Cantor followed with Bridger breathing down his neck.
“Back off, dragon.”
Bridger paused a moment, allowing a gap to form so his nose no longer bumped Cantor between the shoulder blades.
“Good. Thanks.”
They walked in silence. Far ahead, the children clambered up the steps of their front porch and disappeared into the house.
Cantor kept walking but threw a question over his shoulder. “What
do
you have in the saddle bags?”
The air behind him became suddenly still and heated. He heard and felt a swoosh. Cantor turned to face Bridger. In his arms, the dragon held a rather large cat of an unusual coloring. While the cat was mostly black, with white front paws and a small, neat white bib, tawny gold tipped its perky ears and distinguished tail. Green eyes glittered through shuttered eyes on a black face.
Bridger stroked the half-asleep feline. “This is my cat. Her name’s Jesha.”
Cantor looked over his shoulder, but the house was obscured from view by a small shed and tall bushes. He whispered, “You own a cat?”
Bridger ducked his head closer to Cantor’s. “I don’t know that anyone actually
owns
a cat. The relationship is more like that of a realm walker and a dragon. Comrades, partners, colleagues, or maybe collaborators, but one does not own the other.”
Still in hushed tones, Cantor scoffed. “So you have vast familiarity with the liaison between dragon and realm walker, do you?”
“No, but a lot of experience with Jesha. We’ve been together for four years now.”
The cat, with eyes closed, lifted her chin, and Bridger
obligingly stroked along her jaw and down her neck. A purr rumbled in her chest.
Cantor grimaced in disgust. “Who ever heard of a realm walker who has a dragon who has a cat? The image is ridiculous.”
“In the
Tales of Bermagot
, Bermagot has a dragon who has an owl.”
Cantor shook his head. “No! Bermagot had a dragon and an owl. Bermagot had the owl.”
With a smile and a wagging finger, the dragon continued his argument. “Supposition. Anyone knows that a constant is enough companionship for a realm walker. Bermagot had a perfectly good constant so he had no need for an additional friend. The owl was attached to the dragon, not the realm walker.”
Impatience raised the pitch of Cantor’s tone. “Fine! The owl was not a constant. He was just there. Maybe a traveling companion.”
Bridger huffed. A small stream of fire escaped his nostrils. Cantor jumped away before the flame singed his jacket.
Bridger twisted his lips in a moue of disgust before speaking. “Have you not read the
Tales of Bermagot
? I thought every schoolboy knew the exploits of the great realm walker.”
Cantor looked out over the pasture. The small windbreak of trees would no longer shield their approach. He wished to get rid of Bridger before anyone saw him in his dragon form. “Of course I’ve read the
Tales
. I know what he did. He rescued damsels in distress, saved countries being overwhelmed by despots, and built bridges and dams and tunnels for the benefit of the people.”
“And the Dragon Allmendor and Owl Espin helped. The owl was a constant just as much as the dragon.”
Cantor refused to turn and look the dragon in the eye. “I believe that a dragon is not a constant until he has been called by the realm walker. Therefore the owl was not a constant unless called. And why would Bermagot call an owl when he already had a dragon?”
Bridger did not respond. A press of cold air, a stillness, and then a swoosh.
Cantor turned. The dragon and cat were gone, but so was the horse.
He hissed through his teeth. “Bridger? Bridger? Where are you?”
“Why are you whispering?”
Cantor took a moment to recognize Eddie, standing beside the bushes with his face and hands clean, a fresh set of clothes, and no thumb in his mouth.
“Because we didn’t want to wrangle at the top of our voices. Shouting matches are not proper.”
The boy looked around. “We?”
“The warhorse and I.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s not mine, so he went away.” Cantor hoped he had gone for good.
“You were shouting with a horse?”
“Not literally; it’s a manner of speech. I shouted. The horse made various horsey noises.”
Eddie scanned the area once more, shrugged, and slowly shook his head back and forth.
Cantor took the same serious study of his surroundings. Where was Bridger? Where was the cat? He spotted the gold-tipped ears. Ah, in the tree, the tree that had not been a part of the windbreak minutes ago. “Mama says to come.” Eddie
trotted down the lane without checking to see if the guest followed.
Cantor’s stomach gurgled as he strolled behind the boy. For one, Ahma and Odem had drilled into him that he and the rest of the walkers were gentlemen who did not fail to show up after accepting an invitation. Two, realm walkers tried to integrate with the local populace to gain insight into the current conditions of the realm. And three, he didn’t want to miss a meal.
His only concern was this bright-eyed boy and his family might be too curious. Though he could handle any prying questions. And Bridger might get impatient and go away. That would be a plus. The horse dragon was sure to be a nuisance.
Eddie stopped and turned. “Horses can’t talk. Did you know dragons can talk? It was in a book. Ella read it to me.”
The realm walker gave his young companion a searching glance. “I haven’t seen many dragons. You?”
“Not even one.”
Cantor disguised his relief and sounded legitimately sympathetic. “That’s sad.”
Eddie stuck his hands into his pockets and skipped a couple of steps before walking. “If Bridger was a dragon instead of a warhorse, would you let me ride him?”
“You think riding a dragon would be safer than riding a warhorse?”
Eddie turned to walk backward as he grinned at Cantor. “No. That’s why I want to try.”
A
long, broad table crowded one side of a wraparound porch. Assorted benches and old wooden chairs surrounded it. The smells coming through the open windows made Cantor’s mouth water.
An older girl with a kerchief over her long blonde hair and an apron over her pink flowered dress pushed through the screen door with large bowls of food. Cantor bounded up the plank steps to take them from her.
She looked startled, then gave up her burden with a smile. “My name’s Tifra Means. I’m the eldest daughter.”
With his hands full, he could only nod a formal greeting. “Cantor D’Ahma, at your service.”
She laughed and slipped back through the door.
Cantor put the bowls down and lifted the cloths covering them to peek at the contents. Mashed potatoes and creamed corn. He licked his lips, anticipating a meal as grand as the
community suppers down at the village near his home. He hadn’t often visited the village, a result of Ahma’s rules for untrained realm walkers. His favorite part of venturing into civilization was the food. Ahma’s cooking was tasty but repetitive. He’d probably eaten more corn and mushroom swatch than any raccoon on the plane.
He glanced around, wondering where the pesky Bridger had settled. The warhorse sat in the shade of the appleton trees. Dragons looked comfortable sitting; the warhorse looked awkward. He had his head turned away from the humans as if he deliberately shunned the activity on the porch since it didn’t include him. The cat Jesha rested, curled comfortably beside the tree. Bridger, with his head tilted up, watched the flower-laden branches of the trees.
The awkward situation bothered Cantor. Should he claim the horse? Ask for feed? Reveal to the family that Bridger was a dragon? This was Effram. Surely there was some protocol for dealing with new acquaintances when one was a dragon and the other human. But Bridger held the form of the horse. Did he not want to be recognized as a mor dragon? If so, what was his purpose?
The door swung open again. Three young women and the mother streamed out, chattering and giggling. They carried more food and set their dishes in a row down the center of the table. At the same time, a group of men rounded the corner of the house. Their heavy boots thudded on the wooden steps as they joined the people on the porch. The younger family members rushed to their seats and stood at attention behind a chair or bench.
Tifra motioned Cantor to a seat next to hers. She smiled
at him as he came to stand beside her and nodded toward the man at the head of the table.
“My father,” she whispered.
Tifra indicated another man. “My grandfather.” As the older man began a prayer to Primen, she dutifully lowered her gaze to her folded hands.
The porch erupted with noise two seconds after the patriarch of the family said, “Amen.”
Chairs and benches scraped across the floor. Voices that had respectfully remained silent bubbled up in chatter. Cantor sat next to Tifra and became part of the passing of large bowls and platters of food.
“Welcome to our table, young traveler,” called Mr. Means from his end of the table.
Evidently bad manners did not include shouting. “Thank you for having me, sir,” Cantor yelled back.
“I am Tifra’s mother,” said the lady across from him. “Our family receives you and the blessing you bring to us through your presence.”
Cantor pondered for a moment what words of greeting would be appropriate.