One Realm Beyond (7 page)
T
he scattered clouds offered welcome relief from Effram’s sun. He’d been walking for several hours with only a stop for a drink from his canteen and another stop to strip off his coat and hook it through the straps of his knapsack. For a time he enjoyed the scenery, congratulating himself as he identified different plants and birds and even some insects as he trudged along the wide dirt path. But as the sun began its descent in earnest and no one had passed him going either way, the hot, dusty road gradually lost much of its charm of being in a foreign land.
Wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, Cantor reviewed the solar systems in his mind. Dairine and Effram shared the same sun, but his home plane was a great deal farther away than the one he walked on now. That accounted for the extra heat.
The sight of a massive forest up ahead encouraged him.
Soon he’d be in the shade. He quickened his step for ten or fifteen minutes and then slowed, as he didn’t seem to be getting much closer. To the side of the road, a farmer’s peach orchard bloomed. The scent from the small stand of trees wafted on the slight spring breeze.
In a couple of months, juicy peaches would hang from the branches. Cantor stopped, placed his hands on his hips, and acknowledged the turmoil that had swept over him. He’d just had a wonderful meal in a pleasant home, but the thought of gathering greens for Ahma and doing ordinary chores sucked that enthusiasm from his heart. He admitted a little melancholy over leaving the first part of his life behind with only memories to warm his heart.
Looking ahead, Cantor judged the distance again and acknowledged to himself that the woods had turned out to be farther away than he’d thought. He realized the trees were also taller than he expected. Plodding past the flowered orchard, he spotted a huge rock nestled in the grass. His boot had rubbed a blister on his heel, and he sat on the boulder to ease the pain.
At that moment, he would have welcomed Bridger back. Riding a horse or a dragon would have saved his foot and quickened the journey. But he hadn’t seen dragon, haystack, or horse since he left the Means’ farm. Encouraging the dragon to follow him hadn’t been an option. Bridger didn’t have the qualifications to be his constant. His usefulness would be hampered by his limited ability.
Shape-shifting dragons typically had three or four shapes they could easily form. Ahma’s Tom had lost some of his agility in his old age. He basically held the form of a dog, switched to dragon when the need arose, and rarely became the huge fish that graced some of Ahma’s tales of youthful adventure.
Odem’s Nahzy shifted into a dragon or a large owl. The owl, fish, and dog shapes lent themselves to accomplishing missions. What could Bridger do as a haystack? Granted, the horse would come in handy, but in Cantor’s opinion, Bridger’s personality would not help in any situation.
The dragon had not shown himself all afternoon, and Cantor figured he’d taken the hint and gone looking for another partner. Being lonely on his first quest had never crossed Cantor’s mind. Ahma said he was cocky and didn’t know how much he didn’t know. She was right. As usual.
He took a large swallow from his canteen, then dug in his knapsack to find the box containing ointment and a small roll of linen strip for his sore foot. Odem had impressed him with the need to keep his feet in good shape. The blister had burst, so Cantor applied the ointment and secured the wad of linen to protect the sore. Within a few minutes, he shouldered the bag and resumed his trek across Effram.
The road took on a bit of an incline, making his hike a trifle more arduous. But this was nothing compared to the climb from the village to Ahma’s cabin. He puzzled over the type of tree that made up the bulk of the forest ahead. As he came closer he recognized the ladder elm, a tree he had seen only in books Odem had brought for his education. Cantor laughed out loud. He excelled in tree-climbing, and that ladder elms would be no challenge didn’t negate the fact that he had wanted to climb one from the very first time he’d seen a picture.
Cantor forgot his sore heel, the heat, and the late afternoon dragging on his energy. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he trotted the last hundred yards. He dropped his knapsack on the ground and scaled the side of the tree.
The ladder elm’s roots growing closest to the surface turned upward and wrapped around the trunk of the tree. These roots looked more like vines. They crisscrossed each other, interweaving to make a latticework design of a thick leafless covering. Over the years, the vines melded with the bark of the tree, and the trunk appeared to have a zigzagging ladder network.
Cantor climbed the root-vines to the lowest branches, which grew a full twenty feet above the ground. He settled himself on the first bough and scrutinized the horizon.
Peering down the dirt road, he spotted the many crops, pastures, and untended fields that he had passed. He squinted to bring into focus the convenient boulder where he’d stopped. It should have been just after the small peach orchard. He could see the stand of twenty or so peach trees, but the rock next to the road had vanished.
Either the rounded boulder had become invisible or it had walked off. Of course, the rock must have been a shape-shifting dragon. Cantor laughed at himself for missing the opportunity to become acquainted with another dragon. But if the beast had shunned him, it wouldn’t have made a good constant.
A disturbance off to the east caught his eye. He watched for a moment before deciding the dark mass was a group of horses with riders, traveling without regard to the fields they trampled. Hooves pounded crops into the ground. Fences went down ahead of them as foreriders swung battering rails against the wood, smashing the supports. Cattle scattered.
Cantor scowled. If the men rode single file, their passing would leave less damage. If Tifra’s stories were any indication, these must be the King’s Guard. Soon they would reach
the road. Would they turn in Cantor’s direction or continue across country, ignoring the wide dirt path? Cantor decided he did not want to waste time conversing with the captain of these men. An explanation of his journey might not sit well with these arrogant ruffians.
Glancing down, he saw his knapsack in plain sight. That would never do. He scrambled down the tree, grabbed his belongings, and ran farther into the forest. Hopefully, he hadn’t been seen. Where the trees grew thicker, he once again scaled a ladder elm. In his new perch, he had to lean away from the trunk to have a better view of the road. The unpleasant men threatening his peaceful walk through Effram still rode across some poor farmer’s newly sprouted field of grain.
Settling back for a long stay if needed, he strapped his knapsack to another limb. The squadron of men continued until they came to the road. One man got down and examined the dirt. He pointed toward the ladder elm forest, then remounted, and the men turned to follow the road.
Cantor groaned softly and whispered, “Now why would they be interested in following my tracks?”
He unhitched his belongings from the limb and climbed another fifteen feet into the higher branches of the tree. He resettled himself. Anyone passing beneath would not spot him through the foliage. The problem was he couldn’t see without twisting and leaning away from his comfy spot.
The bough he perched on was narrower than those below and not as comfortable to sit upon. He shifted to ease the pain in his backside and dangled his feet. From his pack, he pulled out a packet of dried fruit and sucked on a thin wedge of apple as he waited. Hopefully, the men would ride past him and keep going.
“That smells good. Do you have another?”
Who’d said that? His first thought was Bridger, but the soft voice sounded like a female. Cantor whipped his head around.
In a neighboring tree, just six feet from where he sat, a young woman waved her fingers at him. He had completely missed her. Her skin was paper white. Her wildly frizzled hair hung over her shoulders, the color so fair it held only a gleam of gold. He thought of the rich cream from Ahma’s cow. The girl’s blue eyes twinkled with mischief as if she barely held back laughter. She’d enjoyed watching him settle without a clue she was there.
But it was no wonder he hadn’t seen her. On her head, she wore a green hat that molded to her madcap hair. Cloth tendrils of brown, rust, and shades of green hung down her back and around her face. Her clothing was multi-layered thin materials of the same woodland colors. She blended into her surroundings.
“I really am hungry.” She smiled. “Do you have anything to share?”
He reached in the sack and brought out one of Ahma’s food packets. “Can you catch?”
“With the best of them.”
He tossed the small package, and she caught it handily.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Cantor watched her for a moment. She wasn’t shy about being hungry. Her eyes grew round as she opened the pouch.
She held up a roll and a strip of dried meat. “Oh, yum!” With the bread stuffed in her mouth, she poked around in the packet and brought out sliced cheese and an apple. “Oh, Primen loves me!”
She dropped the bread in her lap and bit into the apple.
Cantor’s amazement at the woman’s odd attire and stranger behavior flustered him for only a moment. If he was to be a realm walker, he’d have to confront oddities in a straightforward manner. “What are you doing up a tree?”
She spoke around the food she hadn’t swallowed yet. “Hiding.”
He asked even though he suspected he already knew the answer. “From?”
She waved the cheese toward the road. “Them.”
C
antor stared at the oddly clothed young woman. “What did you do?”
Her
mouth settled in a grim, straight line. A glare beamed at him from squinted eyes. Her brows lowered, and Cantor thanked Primen that she was in another tree and couldn’t reach him.
“I didn’t
do
anything.”
“Then why are you being hunted by the King’s Guard?”
“Because I exist.”
“That doesn’t seem much of an offense.”
“You haven’t known me long.”
She opened her own canteen, practical gear for a journey but covered with soft and shiny material, lace, and small flat ornaments. She lifted it to her mouth and drank whatever it contained. When she again looked at him, her lips curved in a delicate smile, and her eyes sparkled.
Cantor decided she hadn’t given him a good enough answer. “Why don’t you tell me the real reason you’re up a tree?”
“Oh, I told you the truth. I’m not from this plane, and the King’s Guard does not take kindly to visitors.”
“Where are you from?”
“Richra.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “You?”
“Dairine.” His curiosity spurred him on. “Are you traveling alone?”
“Yes.” She wrinkled her brow. “It’s quite all right. I can take care of myself.”
“I’m traveling alone as well.”
“My name is Bixby D’Mazeline. I’d shake hands” — she nodded at the space between the trees — “but the distance is just a bit beyond my reach.”
“Cantor D’Ahma.” He bowed as well as he could from his perch.
She tilted her head to the side. Curly blonde locks and cloth tendrils from her cap shifted, framing her face. Dappled sunlight spotted her cheeks and forehead. She looked as close to a woodland sprite as he had ever imagined. Everything about her was dainty, and he had the odd impression that she was not anchored to the physical world. A fanciful thought, indeed.
“There used to be an Ahma serving as a realm walker.” She tossed hair and tendrils over her shoulder with a flip of her hand. “That was a long time ago. Is she one of your ancestors?”
“She’s my mentor.”
Happiness popped out on Bixby’s face with round eyes and round mouth and eyebrows arched up. “You’re a realm walker! Are you here to find your dragon?”
Cantor fussed at himself for being careless. He didn’t like
having his purpose exposed, but he figured this odd creature would not cause him any harm. “Yes.”
“Me too.”
Cantor couldn’t help his loud response. “What?” Birds erupted from the trees around them.