Doublesight (39 page)

“And I can't fit between the bars at the end,” she said.

“Great. We have more space to take strolls,” Lankor said. He slumped over. “I don't have enough room. It scares me.”

Zimp walked over to him. She ran her hand through his hair. “I'll find a way out.”

“You do that or you won't be the only one hearing voices,” he said.

She laughed. “You're funny when you're scared.”

“Impending death can do that,” he said.

She stood up quickly and walked to the door. She placed her hand along one of the bars. She turned around and asked Lankor, “Do you suppose the guards sleep?”

“What are you thinking? I'm not shifting anywhere in that cavern.” He pointed toward the hall. “My ribs would snap like dried firewood.”

“I'll bet if we can get one of these bars loose, we can use it to separate the bars on the outer door.” She waited for understanding to kick in, but Lankor stared blankly back at her. “You're big and handsome, but you take a while to catch on.”

“I'm handsome?”

“Don't get sidetracked. It's my turn to shift. I could fit through the bars if they were only a fraction wider. And you, my friend, are strong enough in human image to pry those bars. But first, you'll need to burn this door so we can get these bars out of there.”

“I see now,” he said.

“You can lie down diagonally. That will give you more room.” She sat and leaned against the wall. “We'll stay quiet until they feel
safe. They're on guard right now. When it's time, you've got to make it quick. If they call for more guards, we may be back where we started.”

“I'm looking forward to it,” Lankor said.

Zimp worried about Lankor. The cramped space affected his breathing and his body language. She sensed he held tightly to his own thoughts and that was why he made jokes. She told him to try to sleep to keep his mind off the closeness of the room.

Once he appeared relaxed, she shuffled down the hall to listen to the guards. Even if they didn't doze off, she felt that Lankor would have time to burn the door without disturbing them. From the corner of the door and wall, she could barely see one of the guards. He leaned back and listened to his friend, who complained about his wife. There were only two men there.

“Oh,” the guard said, his eyelids heavy.

“Ain't nothin’ a man can do. You get what you gets,” his partner went on.

In about an hour, the complainer toned down to a mere mumble. The other guard's chest heaved as though he slept.

Zimp tip-toed back to Lankor and placed a hand over his mouth. “Shush,” she said when his eyes opened. “Can you disintegrate that door with as little light as possible?”

“Fire produces light.”

“I know that. So what
can
you do?” She looked around. “Oh, never mind. I'll think of something.” She pulled her cloak from her shoulders and studied Lankor for a moment.

“What's that look for?” Lankor said.

“Remove your shirt.”

“What?”

“I'm going to make a barrier between you and those guards so they don't see some great flash of light and wonder what it is,” she said.

Lankor shook his head. He stood and began to unbutton his shirt.

She moved to help him.

Lankor stopped. “Please don't,” he said.

Zimp backed away, her feelings hurt. “Then hurry.”

Lankor finished and handed her the shirt.

She tied it to her cloak and walked down to the narrowest part of the hall. She stepped on one corner of the cloak and held the other
against the ceiling just over her head. With her foot she scooted his shirt along the floor and placed a toe on it as well. She pulled the other end near the ceiling. Only a small gap was not covered. She lowered her hands long enough for her to nod for Lankor to begin, then she went back into position.

From behind the cloak, Zimp couldn't watch him shift. She could only hear the sound of his muffled groans and of his body scraping the floor as he changed form from human to beast. She sensed that he went through pain during each shift, but never as much as the harpies when they shifted. There was something horrible about their conversion, something cursed.

She felt a quick burst of heat and her cloak and his shirt glowed with a back-light for only a moment. The crackling of burned wood caused her to listen for the guards, but nothing stirred at the end of the hall. Once the area darkened again, she lowered the garments.

She had not realized how small the cell was until she saw Lankor's dragon image and how it almost filled the space. Enough fear and he could remain in dragon image. He would be trapped there, unable to move, lodged into the dungeon cell. Such a thing would drive any man, or beast, mad. The courage it took to shift twice impressed her. He had much more control over his beast image than she had thought. Perhaps more control than he knew, as well.

He shifted into human image and rolled onto his back, then lifted his arms and let them fall to his sides. A sheen ran along Lankor's muscled arms. He stood and turned toward her. Sweat caused the ripples in his flesh to accentuate the curves and bulges in his arms. What strength those arms must yield. She caught her breath when he stretched to full height, and hoped that he hadn't noticed.

“You look tired,” she said as she handed his shirt back to him.

“I am.” He slipped the shirt over his shoulders, but didn't button it. Instead he reached out for the bars, exposed within the charred area along the door. He pulled one loose and charcoal fell to the ground.

“It's still hot here,” she said.

“I tried not to allow very many flames,” he said, “so I used as much heat as I could. That takes a lot out of me.”

She felt her shirt and neck were wet from sweating. “That was very brave for you to do.”

“The heat will dissipate soon,” he said. He grabbed a second bar. “These will work nicely.” He stood and looked down the hall. “It's funny, but I feel safer in this cell than I do in that hall.”

“I can see why,” Zimp said. She waited for Lankor to relax.

He held the bars in one hand and stared at the ground. After a few long, deep breaths he looked into her eyes. “Are you ready?”

“Let's go.” She swung around and walked to the end of the hall with caution. She planted herself in the shadow created by the corner of the door and hall while Lankor lifted both bars and slid them between two of the bars on the outer door. Zimp closed her eyes and listened as pressure was applied, the bars scraping against one another, the metal emitting a low groan. She felt Lankor's hand on her arm and opened her eyes. The gap in the bars would be easy to climb through.

Zimp gripped Lankor's forearm with both of her hands. As her body shriveled she pulled him toward the ground. Her crow image pulled inward and made her feel like she would disappear soon. She placed a clawed foot onto his hand, and could feel his fear through his palm, sense his nervousness in the air around him. As he lifted her into the air, Zimp let her thoughts slip in and out of the other realm, searching, but for what?

She heard two distinct voices in her head: one was Zora and the other she feared that was Oronice's. It was done, then. Oro had left the physical realm and moved on. Her voice was the stronger of the two, confirming what Zimp had already known.

Lankor raised his hand near the opening in the door and Zimp hopped through the bars and glided to the ground. She ruffled her feathers. It felt as though someone touched her neck and back, running a finger down the length of her. Words entered her body, but not through her mind, not through her ears. The words felt physical, making themselves known at her wingtips and beak. How was that possible? Another crow appeared in front of her, between her and the guards. She cocked her head. It was Oronice. A second crow appeared and tried to push Oro aside.

“Zora,” Zimp glanced toward Lankor, knowing that he could not understand what she said. He could hear only a cackle or warble leave her beak. But could he see the two crows that stood in front of her?

He pointed toward them. Or did he point toward the guards behind them? His eyes turned sad, defeated.

“Humans have made the doublesight impure,” Zimp heard, or felt, from Oronice. “The statues must be destroyed. Set the gargoyle children free.”

Zora pecked at Oronice. “What are you saying? Bring the doublesight home.” She hopped closer to Zimp. “This is the true realm, not the physical. Come here with us. Join us.”

“No,” Oronice began to shift. Zimp knew that she'd have to shift too in order to understand what Oronice had to say. But she wanted to talk with her sister, as well, and didn't want to abandon her.

One of the guards stirred behind Oronice and Zora. Zimp pushed her attention toward human thought. Zora's image faded slightly, but Oro's remained clear throughout her shift.

As Zimp gripped her human image fully, Zora was gone.

“Listen to me,” Oro said.

“But how?” Zimp said.

Oronice placed a finger over her lips to shush Zimp. “They cannot see nor hear me. But they can hear you.

Zimp glanced around the room, purposely ignoring Lankor.

“I know. It is as though the walls and air are speaking and not me. You can feel my words in your hands. They are physical. Feel this,” Oro said, “you are in great danger.”

Zimp stepped back. The words hurt her chest, her heart. The lantern flickered and a shadow swept over the chamber accentuating the darkness that lay waiting for the fire to go out.

“The souls of the gargoyles from Memory Tower have grown strong. They are pushing through to the physical world. Entering through the weakest links, through humans. But only through humans who have taken a doublesight mate. The strength of knowing your beast image is strong. A human's yearning to know a beast image makes them weak. The two…” Her voice faded.

“Oro,” Zimp said.

One of the guards sat upright and opened his eyes.

“Zimp,” Lankor said, desperation in his voice.

Oronice disappeared before Zimp's eyes. But her grandmother's words spread throughout the chamber. “Some doublesight must die. Storret, Storret knows,” were Oro's last words.

By now the guard had pulled his sword and lumbered toward Zimp. “How did you get out here?”

She stumbled backwards.

Lankor stretched his arm through the bars but couldn't reach the guard. “Hey,” he yelled.

The guard turned long enough for Zimp to shake the visions from her head and tackle him at the knees. The sword came down and cracked against the floor waking the other guard.

Zimp ran her hand along the guard's calf and found a dagger, her weapon of choice. In an instant, she pulled the blade from its sheath and let the blade glide up along the guard's thigh, cutting an inch deep as it went.

He screamed and leaped back, shoving her away.

Zimp fell against the door, rolled to her back, and kicked with both feet to jar the bolt loose.

Lankor pulled the door open and stepped into the guards’ chamber.

41

WITH ONLY A FEW DAYS OF TRAINING after getting to know one another, Storret felt that he and his army were totally unprepared. He had discussed his concern with Breel and Floom several times, but they both reassured him that things were as they were meant to be. The men and women would sharpen their talents whenever time permitted. Although most doublesight had been brought up to be passive, they learned battle tactics as a defense, and would call on those tactics when necessary.

Since Oro's death, Noot wandered the camp visiting each of the two bands of makeshift warriors. He appeared to be dazed much of the time. He spoke very little and would walk off while spoken to.

Storret knew what contact with the second realm was like and understood how it could affect a man in such a way. What worried him was how uncommunicative Noot had become. He didn't remember Oronice ever being that removed from physical reality. What if the man couldn't handle the strain of living in two worlds at once?

“You have enough to be concerned about,” Breel said. She stood next to Storret as he stared down one of the forest paths after Noot.

“Will he be all right?” Storret said.

“That is not for either of us to be concerned about. Do you trust Oronice? Did you not return unharmed?”

“Yes, but I was taken on a journey and brought back. Oronice held my hand the whole way. I'm afraid Noot has been left to fend for himself in a world where the values and beliefs of our physical world may not apply. I can only guess at the struggle he must be
going through.” Storret reached for Breel's hand. “I feel that Oronice has left him alone so that she can go to Zimp.”

“May the Gods watch over them all,” she said.

Storret squeezed her hand in agreement, then let go and turned toward the clearing where his men practiced offensive and defensive moves using swords and staffs. He stepped around several men who sparred in front of him. “Rats,” he said. “They are many, but they are not so easily taught. And they are not aggressive fighters until they are cornered.”

They walked on and came to another clearing where about twenty people, men and women alike, practiced hand-to-hand combat.

Storret knelt down and Breel followed suit. “I am always mystified by the movements they make,” he said. “Watch as they circle. Watch their feet and nothing else.”

Breel stared for a moment and turned to him amazed.

Storret smiled at her.

“It's like their legs disappear and reappear in a different place. Their stance changes to match that of their opponent, at which time the opponent's stance changes,” she said.

“Now watch only their arms and hands,” he said.

“It can't be,” she said. “They are fighting. But, I also see them kicking. How can their legs be in the air and on the ground at the same time?”

“I can't even keep track of their punches. I've tried. They are either extremely quick or their bodies come in and out of the physical world,” Storret said. “I talked with one of them the other day and he's not even sure how it's done. They learn the practice from childhood. They call it the art of dance.” He stopped and thought for a moment. “Oro said to dance into battle. I plan to lead with them.” Stroking Breel's curly locks, Storret asked, “Have you ever watched foxes in the woods?”