One Realm Beyond (34 page)
Bixby had always loved responsive singing. Vocalizing the
blessings made her feel purposeful. She and the others in the congregation agreed to live up to the call just given.
The cantors’ voices rang true, and the unity of tone imbued the air with a rich heady quality. Cantor and Bridger both had strong voices, and they stood out as leaders in the responses from the congregation.
As the last note faded away, a snort and resounding snores echoed in the chamber.
Perhaps all the others hadn’t answered the call.
Dukmee took Bixby’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. The friends walked to the doors.
Bridger’s head swung back and forth as he looked for something. “Isn’t someone supposed to be standing at the door? You know, the man who shakes our hands and says how glad he is to see us.”
Cantor shook his head. “I suppose some sanctuaries don’t have that person.”
Bixby squinted in the bright light of noon. Her eyes adjusted rapidly, and she noticed more citizens ambled on the street than an hour before.
Dukmee bowed to the friends. “Come to my vilta. I’ve told Minka Naf to have a cold lunch prepared for us. It’s quite a walk, and your appetites will be ready for her wonderful cooking.”
They passed the cafés they had visited that morning. Bixby didn’t recognize any of the people seated at the open air tables. The waiters now served a luncheon.
When they came to streets less crowded, Bixby asked the questions that had troubled her. “Why did they put the statues behind the wooden columns? What stories do the carvings represent?”
Dukmee turned, gazed at her intently, and then responded. “You’re very observant, but you’ve made an error. The statues are a part of the original architecture. Each serves as a support beam as well as adding to the depiction of Primen’s creation of and dealings with our world. The columns were added only a hundred and sixty years ago. They serve no function. The pictographs are of the glorious achievements of men and dragons. Every event of note from the beginning of recorded history has been commemorated in polished wood.”
Bixby felt a chill, and not from a cold breeze. She had learned at her mother’s knee to revere Primen and keep him as the prime priority in her life. The carved columns disregarded the order of righteousness and bloated the role of men and dragons.
Her father had laughed at some example her mother had given of men who thought too highly of themselves. She hopped around her father’s throne and danced between her parents as they talked.
He said, “They have bloated egos, and we all know the fate of things that are bloated.”
Bixby came to a sudden stop, and she stared at her father.
He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Why the worried face, Princess? What troubles you?”
“Do they really pop, Papa? Is it a mess and a stink and a horrid thing to get on your shoes?”
“Ah, child, we wouldn’t be able to see what has burst. Their bodies would probably look much as they have always looked. But inside, the damage would be great. And without a touch from Primen himself, the putrid soul would never be refreshed.”
At the time, Bixby had been appalled that people could
be walking around with their egos bloated. Who knew when these poor people would have that something that was inside explode? She’d watched those in the palace very carefully and made a mental list of those who were in danger. Now, she recognized self-centered individuals quite easily, but she no longer had a list.
As the friends walked through the city streets toward the closest rural area, Bixby and Dukmee told the others what they had overheard at breakfast.
Bixby pulled her shoulders in and looked up and down the street first. Seeing that no one was close enough to hear, she still lowered her voice. “Everyone is saying things without saying things.”
“Ah, yes, darling. That is just as it always is in political circles. Did you understand any of the messages behind the words?”
Bixby nodded vigorously. Her crown slipped, and they all stopped while she switched the ornate headdress for a simpler style.
Cantor sidled up to her. “What does that one do?”
“Its ability is directions. If I wear it now, as we’re just strolling through the city, the crown will register more details of the street layout.”
“Very useful, darling, but tell us about the table talk in the café.”
“Right. One man said that news traveled slowly from plane to plane.” She lowered her voice. “But once a tidbit arrived, it could zip around a country faster than a bee in a daisy patch.”
Cantor agreed, nodding his head. “That’s true of any type of news. So that wouldn’t get the speaker in trouble.”
“Then his companion, a woman wearing a business dress — ”
Totobee-Rodolow arched an eyebrow. “On the weekend? Surely she knows to allow herself a day of rest.”
Bridger was a step behind but could hear what they were saying. “Maybe she rests on Tuesday, Totobee-Rodolow. Not everyone adheres to the Sunday tradition.”
“True,” said the dragon with disapproval in her tone. “Go on, Bixby.”
“His companion said, ‘You know what happens to the bee after she’s stung someone. And it isn’t the fault of the bee.’ ”
She paused to visualize the man as she thought of the underlying rebellion in his words. “He said, ‘Sure, the bee dies, but think what a good job she’s done in pollination. She’s done all she can to promote new life.’ ”
Bixby looked around at her audience. Dukmee held Jesha and walked a bit ahead of the others. Of course, he’d heard what the citizens at the restaurant had said.
“Then the woman said it was a shame the bee died. But if you chose to do dangerous things, then dying should be expected.”
Cantor scowled. “So she’s against bees flying around and delivering pollen?”
Bixby nodded. “But the man said that the bee doesn’t die from delivering the pollen. She dies when someone tries to stop her, and she has to defend herself.
“The woman was eating and she said this with her mouth full. ‘I’d rather be a flower than a bee.’ That really made the man fume.”
Bridger leaned closer. “Because her mouth was full? Was
the man her father? Had she disgraced her family with bad table manners?”
Bixby exchanged a look with Cantor. Cantor looked annoyed, but she thought Bridger’s questions followed a skewed logic and his way of thinking was funny.
Again Totobee-Rodolow prodded them back to the subject. “What did he say?”
“He said that it wasn’t much good being a flower in a garden if you died from lack of fresh air.”
“What does that mean?” asked Bridger.
Totobee-Rodolow tsked. “It means he mixed the metaphor.”
Bixby clapped her hands together. “That’s exactly what she said. She said that he
should
have said that the garden would wither and die without the bees’ help exchanging pollen. She said that the flowers needed to know about what was happening on the other flowers, and they learned that through the pollen.”
Bixby paused and glanced around. They were still safe from being overheard. “The man said, ‘I’m glad you agree with me. You put my argument into words very well. In fact, I couldn’t have said it better.’ Then he started laughing, and she bristled. And the last thing I heard her say was, ‘The bees still die.’ ”
Totobee-Rodolow turned to Dukmee. “And what did you hear, sir?”
“The same sort of thing. The upshot is that everyone wants to hear what’s going on. Everyone’s outraged by the news. Everyone’s very aware that spreading the news is dangerous. And very few people think that anything can be done about it.”
“Are they right?” Bixby asked.
“No, darling. As long as there are citizens who love, there is hope.”
Bixby let that thought sink into her heart and gently stir her conceptions of relationships, then said, “Everyone loves.”
“Exactly, my dear. Even the meanest of mean loves, even if it is only himself.”
“Then how is it that if everyone loves, our worlds aren’t at peace?”
“Because we are narrow-minded, darling.”
Bridger quickened his pace to come next to Dukmee. Jesha jumped from his arms to Bridger’s shoulder. The dragon smiled and stroked the cat. “I think the problem isn’t that we’re narrow-minded, but that we all suffer from narrow hearts.”
T
he first morning of their training, Bixby and Totobee-Rodolow, Cantor and Bridger followed the long route out of town to Dukmee’s vilta. They had been told they couldn’t fly until they’d satisfied their mentor and passed the flying round.
Cantor fought down the urge to fly anyway. Dukmee knew they’d flown before. Signing a paper wouldn’t make them more proficient. He decided to ask Dukmee to do the flying round first, so they wouldn’t have to waste so much time just getting to their courses.
On the long list of rounds they must pass before reaching the second level of realm walkers, Cantor figured he and his friends already were proficient in quite a few of them. They’d pass quickly. Of course, there were some he knew would be hard for him, because Odem and Ahma had not already covered them.
A moment of unease shattered his happy contemplation of training. He wanted to drop everything and continue his search for his mentors. He’d have to trust Feymare, and he forced his attention back to the upcoming rounds.
Anything written would cause a problem. All through his school years, pencils and pens had made him uncomfortable. Neither Odem nor Ahma had had any success in ridding him of the nervous, skin-crawling willies that plagued him when he was around writing instruments. He avoided them and avoided allowing anyone to know how bothered he could be. Why would a grown man run from a pencil?
Dukmee greeted them at the door and invited them into his study. “The council has sent your papers. I know Totobee-Rodolow knows what they are, but Bixby, Cantor, and Bridger will want to examine them.”
He gave them each a small book with their names engraved on the leather cover along with the official seal of the Realm Walkers Guild. Inside, each page had a round named at the top, with a list of goals that would lead to their mastering the skill. In order to move to the next level of the guild, they had to become proficient in thirty-five of the thirty-six abilities.
Dukmee only gave them a moment to flip the pages to see what was before them. Raised as a future realm walker, Cantor had a good idea of what would be listed. Many of the tasks he believed he could be tested on that very day and prove his competence.
Dukmee explained, “On each page, there’s a list of steps that will lead to your expertise in that area. I initial each phase, and when all are accomplished, I circle the entire page. I believe that’s why this procedure came to be known as rounds.”
He approached each of them with his hand out. “I’ll keep them for you. You may look at them at any time. You’ll plan your strategy to tackle the program. I suggest that you do a physical and mental category side by side. Two physicals or two mentals can be devastating.”
He put the small stack of books on the desk. “Aside from the attributes that you must complete, there’s the matter of overall stamina. Should you pass all thirty-six of the rounds, but fail the tests of strength and endurance, you’ll have forfeited the final prize.”
His eyes met those of first one initiate and then the other. Cantor felt like he spent more time on him. The steady gaze became uncomfortable, but he forced himself not to squirm. Did the healer read minds? Could he judge the state of his pupil by the tone of skin, quality of breath, or even by the heartbeat? He hoped not, because by the time Dukmee quit staring at him, he was flushed with sweat on his brow, breathing swift, shallow breaths, and his heart raced.
“Now for my last bit of business dictated by the guild.” Dukmee looked apologetic as he spoke. “You’re to live here in the vilta instead of the Moor.”
Bixby stood straighter and her eyes narrowed. “Why is that? I understood living in the Moor was essential. How will we become acquainted with other initiates? How will we forge friendships that last a hundred years? How can we do research without the guild library?”
Totobee-Rodolow patted Bixby on the shoulder. “Do not distress yourself, my dear. They’re already afraid of us. We’re exiled to this beautiful home because we’re a threat. They don’t want us underfoot, perhaps spying on their illicit activities.” She paused as if considering. “And perhaps they think that we
won’t pass our rounds because we have inferior resources and a mentor who isn’t even a guild member.”
“I agree,” Dukmee said.
Bridger huffed, emitting a tiny flame and black smoke. “We can still make our rounds.”
“I agree,” Dukmee repeated. “Totobee-Rodolow and Bridger-Bigelow, you will begin a regimen to increase your flying stamina.”
Bridger saluted. “Yes, sir.”
“And your first task, Bixby and Cantor, is to run up the hill. You’ll find a footpath around its crown. Traverse that path three times, then run down the hill.”
The door slammed against the corridor wall, announcing Bixby’s departure. Cantor took off after her and caught her struggling to get the front door open. He reached over her shoulder, grabbed the knob, and wrenched the door toward them.
