One Realm Beyond (6 page)

“You are gracious in your hospitality.”

Two boys snorted their laughter. Apparently, Cantor had not chosen well. He’d try again.

“I appreciate the hands that have brought this bounty from field and pasture to your kitchen and to the table.”

The same two boys bent toward each other and snickered. Cantor wished they’d just give him the line instead of enjoying his embarrassment. Tifra pinched the one sitting next to her, and a sister on the other side of the boys pinched the one beside her.

The mischievous boys sat up straight, but their shoulders shook from suppressed laughter, their faces burnt red, and their mouths twisted in a thin-line, twitching grimace.

The heavy dishes still moved around the table, handed from one person to the next. Cantor’s plate overflowed, and he passed the next plate without spooning out a serving. Though he hadn’t tasted anything, he swallowed, trying to dislodge his chagrin at not being able to come up with a courteous reply.

“Didn’t I say I would be useful?”
Bridger’s voice whispered through Cantor’s mind.

He sat up straighter and leaned slightly so he could see around Goodwife Means to the warhorse under the tree. Bridger remained in the same position. Again his voice interrupted Cantor’s thoughts.

“Say to the goodwife
,
‘Primen blesses us all. I thank you for sharing the blessing. Primen multiplies this good thing.’ ”

Cantor repeated the three sentences.

Goodwife Means relaxed, a warm smile came over her face, and she and Tifra sighed in unison.

The goodwife dipped her head, acknowledging his words, and said, “All good things come from Primen.”

“You’re out of the mire now,”
said Bridger with a chuckle.

“Can you hear me?”
asked Cantor without speaking.

“Yes
,
I can hear you. I can hear everything you hear. I can
see everything you can see. This should prove to you that I am
,
indeed
,
your constant
,
your friend
,
and your comrade for life.”

Cantor spooned warm, buttery potatoes into his mouth. While he savored them, he answered the dragon sitting under the appleton trees.
“Oh
,
no. I haven’t consented to any such thing. I appreciate your help in this instance
,
but don’t make too much of it. I have other plans. We must part ways.”

Bridger muttered one word.
“Stubborn.”

Mr. Means, the grandfather, gave an approving nod to his son. Mr. Means, the father, passed the nod to his wife. She smiled, pleased about something Cantor could not decipher. No tension marred the gathering around the table. He figured the silent communication must have been over a family issue.

The men ignored him and ate with little interaction between them. The food refueled them and gave them an excuse to be off their feet for a while. But their attitude showed they had no time for socializing. The children ate, chattered, and played at the table. No one bid them to mind their manners, eat more, talk less, or be still.

Only Goodwife Means kept up a conversation with Cantor. She asked questions, and to thwart her, Cantor began asking his questions first. The tactic kept his hostess occupied and his secrets safe.

The meal was soon over, and the men vacated the porch with the same speed and noise that had heralded their arrival.

Goodwife Means took the plates from Tifra as she helped clear the table. “Go. Show the young traveler around the farm.”

Tifra grinned and scooted around the table, heading for the steps. Cantor followed. They headed toward the barn first. Tifra took off her kerchief, finger-combed her hair, then divided the long golden blonde tresses into sections. She braided her hair as they walked.

“My family raises goats and cows.”

Cantor glanced around. “I don’t see goats or cattle.”

“We have to hide them.”

“Where can you possibly hide a herd of cattle?”

Tifra pointed toward the western horizon. “Beyond our
land, the territory is riddled with ravines. Ever seen a pokematt tree?”

“In a book.”

“Well, in person, it stinks, and if you touch it, you get poked. The matted appearance is due to long thorns and closely woven branches. Cows and goats don’t mind the smell and don’t get caught in the branches. Pokematts are a cross between a bush and a tree, and they cover acres of the rocky fields. Both the cattle and goats hide in the shrub-flats and wander in and out of the ravines.”

“Who are you hiding them from?”

Tifra gave Cantor an incredulous look. “The King’s Guard, of course. You must be from far away if you aren’t troubled by the King’s Guard.”

Cantor waved his hand in the general direction of the east and upward, since Dairine was higher in the stack of planes than Effram. He would be able to tell the truth and at the same time not reveal he was a realm walker from a different plane. “Mountains. Our home is nestled among some fairly rough mountains.”

“And the guards don’t come through, taking what they can, claiming that the king requires samples of the harvest?”

Cantor shook his head, wondering how he would talk his way around her suspicion. “We haven’t had a king’s representative in our village for likely two generations, maybe three if you count the babies born last fall. You see, our community was quarantined a hundred years ago, and we lost touch with the valley people.” He spread his hands in a gesture of ignorance. “I suppose the guard assumed we’d died out when no one came down from the mountains to trade.”

“Until you?”

Cantor thought she looked half-convinced, so he continued his tale of half-truth. He smiled with confidence. There was a village in quarantine on Effram. Isolating an area of sickness was common among all the realms. One of his directives from Odem was to visit there and bring back a report. “Oh, scouts have ventured forth and brought back news that the people are better off separated from the rest of Effram.”

“And you’re a scout?”

“Not exactly.”

They had reached the barn. Tifra led them through the massive doors into the cool interior. Another door stood open at the back of the huge structure. The smells and sounds of animals indicated the various stalls held occupants.

Cantor didn’t wrinkle his nose, but he wondered if he should tell Tifra Ahma’s secret for keeping her stalls sweet-smelling even in the winter. The herb she used might not even exist on this plane. And most of the problem was solved by his constant attention to cleaning the stalls.

For a moment he allowed himself concern for Ahma. Her age kept her from strenuous labor. Odem vowed he would stick closer and enjoy her wonderful meals as he practiced being retired. But Odem had the wanderlust, and he had left a glass eye in many places where he worked in spite of the Realm Walkers Council. In his younger years, Cantor had believed the glass eye phrase literally. It took many visits from the traveling man for the young realm walker to understand the glass eyes were people loyal to Odem.

Cantor brought his attention back to Tifra as she went from stall to stall and pointed out baby pigs, a colt with a wrapped leg, a few sheep, and a nest of newborn kittens.

“A snake bit the colt, so we have him in here until Pa is
certain he is well. The pigs go in and out of the wooden flaps that are open to their sty. The sheep will be brought in for the hot hours in the afternoon.”

“Will the King’s Guard confiscate these animals?”

“Many of them, along with much of the grain we grow and part of our fruit, chickens, and ducks. They even took one of Pa’s herding dogs one time. That really made the menfolk grumble. I thought my brothers might sneak into the camp and steal the dog back, but my uncles talked some sense into them. Better to lose a dog to those scoundrels than have a son pressed into service and lost to the family for ten years.”

“You know the Realm Walkers Guild is supposed to take care of such injustice. Have you ever sent a message to them, pleading your case?”

Tifra laughed. “The Realm Walkers Guild? You certainly are out of touch with Effram. The king pays tribute to the council, incentive for them to ignore our plight. My relatives and their older friends all say they can remember when realm walkers came to Effram to acquire their constants. Dragons were seen almost every day. I saw a dragon two years ago.”

Cantor did not tell her a dragon sat as a horse in the family’s appleton grove. He tried to understand what Tifra told him. A plane estranged from the guild was entirely different from what he had expected. On the other hand, it reflected Ahma and Odem’s suspicion of the authorities.

Tifra lifted her arms and let them slap against her sides. “See?”

Cantor surveyed the barn for something out of the ordinary. “See what?”

“Few realm walkers come to Effram to find a mor dragon. No young men and women are answering the noble call to
serve Primen. At least, that’s what my father says. My uncles say when they were lads, they used to see a dozen young men and women come through during each summer. The travelers dressed in the garb of the council when they were looking for a dragon. Made them easy to spot.”

She glanced at Cantor, obviously studying his clothing. With a shake of her head, she leaned against the rails of the pen holding the colt.

The tip of Cantor’s tongue danced against his clenched teeth. He very much wanted to announce he was a realm walker, but he knew that would be breaking one of the fundamental instructions he’d received from Ahma and Odem. Apparently in the past, realm walkers did not avoid drawing attention to themselves when they entered a community.

Tifra bid the colt good-bye and led Cantor between two stalls. They exited the barn through a side door. She pointed to a fenced pasture. “That’s where we keep a couple of cows for milking. There’s a pond with ducks and geese, and my brothers fish there. Closer to the house is a chicken coop. We have the best laying hens in the county.”

“Your family has worked hard, and your farm is very impressive.”

Tifra screwed up her face, and her words took on a bitter tone. “For all the work we do, this farm should be grander. But a lot of our goods are taken before we go to market. Sometimes, the guard visits the market and takes things from there. It’s more convenient to have the choice of the best all at one location.”

She took his arm and pulled him toward a well. He turned the handle to bring up the bucket. She gave him the first drink from a cup tied by its handle to a post.

“Thank you,” he said after downing the whole cup. “That’s sweet and cool.”

She laughed and sat on the stone rim with her cup. “It isn’t really sweet unless you’re comparing it to wells that have that musty taste, or worse, sulfur!” Her merry eyes gleamed. “And it’s the one thing the guard has not barreled up and taken away. Although my father predicts that someday that will be part of their collection for the king.”

They walked to the porch. Cantor noticed Bridger no longer sat in the appleton orchard. He hoped the dragon had gotten bored and gone off to find some other person to pester.

Tifra touched his arm. He moved away, trying not to be rude, but avoiding personal contact. On different planes, the habit of touching varied tremendously. On Dairine, only family members and close friends hugged or communicated through a hand on the other person’s arm.

Cantor breathed a sigh of relief when the farm girl did not take offense. “I best be off. I want to reach a settlement tonight. Can you tell me how far it is to the next village?”

She gave him a sweet smile. “You know they want you to stay.”

“Who?”

“My family.”

“Why?”

“The work is hard, and another set of hands and a strong back are always welcome.” Her cheeks colored faintly. “And they are looking for a husband for me.”

She laughed as Cantor gulped, stepped back, and tried to keep his face from twisting into a revelation of his feelings.

“Don’t worry. They won’t capture you to keep you. They left it to me to send you on or entice you to stay. They figure
that a maiden has more chance offering romance than a bunch of burly men offering hard work.” Her smile faded. “But you had best be careful as you travel. The King’s Guard has no scruples.”

She nodded the direction he should go. “Tinamiin is a few houses and three stores. You should be able to walk the distance by nightfall. Ask for the Tinamiin Overseer to put you in a home for the night. Your stay should be pleasant.”

“Thank you, Tifra. I feel more confident with the knowledge you’ve shared. I won’t be such a mountain bumpkus as I deal with you flatlanders.”

She returned his grin. “You’re welcome, Cantor D’Ahma. Be safe in your journey.”

He bowed to her with as much formality he would have used in the Realm Walker Council meetings, and then picked up his pack from the steps. Children poured out of the door and stood waving and hollering farewells. The goodwife came out, with a frown on her friendly face. Tifra climbed the wooden steps and stood by her mother. She said something, the mother shrugged, and the two joined the smaller ones in friendly waves.

He walked away from the gracious home, occasionally turning to wave again. Until he was beyond the trees and almost to the road, the children stayed to jump in place while they flapped and fluttered their arms and shouted good-byes.

An afternoon stroll in a pleasant countryside and new discoveries just around the corner would occupy the rest of his day. The negative things Tifra had related were probably exaggerations. Odem would have told him if the situation in the Realms were so dire.

Yet her words nagged at him. Though Odem and Ahma
may not have expressed so plainly the dissatisfaction of the people and the villainy of the leaders, they certainly had been cautious for years. Cantor knew the root of their caution lay in a distrust of the council. He’d long had the impression of something being wrong, even if Odem hadn’t spelled it out.

He shook as if getting rid of a bad cloak. Politics did not concern Cantor at the moment. The best approach to the problem was to ready himself. He’d find the right dragon soon enough. He’d follow that path set before him and allow life to be simple for a little longer. Enjoying his freedom sounded more enticing than investigating the King’s Guard. Diligently searching for a constant should provide enough excitement for now.