One Realm Beyond

by Donita K. Paul

  “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.

  “Oh, great!” Bixby’s face pinched into a frown. “You could have just shouted, ‘Here we are,’ so the King’s Guard won’t have to work tracking us.”

  Cantor twisted around the limbs of his tree to get a view of the road approaching the forest. The squadron still advanced at a fair pace.

  He heard Bixby shifting her position.

  Her voice chastised him. “Anyone knows when you startle the birds, you’ve sent up a signal pinpointing your whereabouts. We’ll have to move.”

  Cantor stuffed his snack back in the knapsack and latched the straps in place. “That’s probably a good thing in the long run. We’re too close to where the road enters the forest.”

  He started his descent without waiting to see if Bixby D’Mazeline would follow. When his feet touched the ground, she was already standing beside the tree. Her height surprised him, or rather her lack of height surprised him. Ahma, who was short, probably stood a full head taller than the petite blonde.

  She bounced on her toes, clearly ready to go. Her skirts hung at varying lengths, some with slanted hems, some with fringe, and one with a ruffle. At least six different fabrics made up her outfit. All of them flimsy, light, and totally inappropriate for running away from the King’s Guard through a forest thick with underbrush.

  A strap ran over her shoulder and across the front to her waist, where a flat bag hung. Scraps of fabric, bits of lace, buttons, and ribbons in no discernible order made up the satchel.

  Cantor wondered where she carried anything. And if her airy skirts would snag on the bushes. He looked down at her shoes. Unsuitable. Thin leather, more buttons and lace. Lace on half-boots with heels. Bixby D’Mazeline was going to be a hitch in his desire to hurry.

  “Can you run?”

  “With the best of them.”

  Cantor pointed away from the road. “That way.”

  He took off, hoping his body would break a way through the underbrush, leaving openings big enough for her to get through, but small enough to avoid the sharp eyes of the scout tracking them. Every time he glanced over his shoulder, she was no more than two feet behind him. How she did it, he did not know. But he thanked Primen that the girl could, indeed, run with the best of them.

  The forest thickened with tree trunks almost touching.

  Cantor stopped, pointed to the canopy above and said, “Up?”

  She nodded, and he led the way up a ladder elm. He paused where the branches became thick. Bixby, who had climbed with equal skill, stopped directly beside him in another tree.

  “Are we going across the crown?” she asked.

  “Yes, just below the crest and above the blind.”

  Her face broke into a radiant smile. “Let’s go.”

  This time she scrambled from branch to branch ahead of Cantor. He marveled at her speed and grace. The limbs barely shook beneath her. But the most startling aspect of this daintily dressed female was how her clothing did not catch on anything. She slipped through foliage, pointy twigs, and leafy boughs with no hindrance. Even Cantor’s more serviceable attire snagged upon occasion.

  Several times Cantor stopped to pull a broken stem from his waistcoat. Bixby dashed ahead. He lost sight of her for a few minutes and came upon her suddenly. She sat with her back to a trunk, legs stretched out in front of her on a broad bough, and her arm rested across a limb that looked as if it had been designed for that purpose.

  He almost passed her, but saw her gesture out of the corner of his eye. She put her finger to her lips and patted a branch very close to her perch. Cantor eased himself down, making little noise.

  Bixby cupped her hand behind her ear, then pointed toward the forest floor at some spot farther ahead.

  Cantor listened. The rumbling of two men talking reached his ears. He strained to make out the words, but a wall of leaves muffled the conversation. Then Bixby put her hand on his and a blast of woodland noises blared in his head. He jerked his hand away to cover his ears. The noise dropped to normal as soon as he broke contact with Bixby.

  He stared at her. Joy and excitement lit her face. By some miracle, she did not burst into giggles.

  With a finger over her lips, she whispered, “Could you do that by yourself? Do you have that talent?”

  He shook his head. “I hear exceptionally well, but I couldn’t pinpoint and magnify a sound like you’re doing.”

  “I’ll teach you.” She held out her hand, and he gingerly touched her fingertips.

  Ordinary sounds of the forest stirred his perception first. He heard soft twitters of birds, rustling of passing small animals in the underbrush, and the wind teasing a song from the highest tips of the branches. Each sound intensified as he isolated it from the others, but he had been able to do this since he was a young boy exploring the mountainside of Ahma’s home.

  With Bixby’s help, he reached a finer clarity. Although she spoke no words, he followed her lead, sensing her mental maneuvers to achieve her goal.

  He heard an animal lap water, and something splashed in the same vicinity. Flapping wings caught his attention. Then he heard the two men talking, and nothing else infiltrated his concentration.

  “You can’t do anything about it, Lem. If you do, it’ll stir up more trouble.”

  “Ruese, we’re talking about my boy. If it was your Campe, you’d come to me for help, and I’d help you. You know I would.”

  “Sure I know that, but our pader always said you were the fool storming the castle, and I was the farmer plowing the field. You act. I prepare.”

  “My boy, my boy.” A sob emphasized the father’s despair. “I’ve got to get him back. My Aria is grieving her son. I don’t think she can live, knowing he’s turned into a mindless, cruel guardsman.”

  “It might be too late to get him back. They may have already impressed him.”

  Lem cried out, “No!”

  Cantor imagined from the sounds he heard that Ruese had a sobbing Lem in his arms, and the practical brother thumped the brokenhearted one on the back. “Come now, Lem. You have to be strong for Aria and the other children.”

  The sobbing and thumping continued.

  Ruese’s words rose above the wail. “Well, maybe the boy’s still whole. They take the captured to Gristermeyer.”

  Lem caught his breath. Hope lifted his voice. “The new catch was still at Bingar this morning. They won’t arrive at Gristermeyer until suppertime.”

  “If we did break them out, where would they go?”

  “Just my boy, just Arend. Perhaps the guards won’t notice one thin boy gone.”

  “You can’t leave the others, Lem. For one thing, the guard will know just who to blame. And if we did this foolhardy thing, we couldn’t do it for one boy. We’d have to rescue them all. How could you look another man eye to eye if you’d left his son to that purgatory?” Ruese sighed. “And we still would have to think of a place to send them. Nothing will ever be the same, Lem. You know that. It’s already too late. Our life will remain smashed to bits by the hand of the King’s Court.”

  “But we’d know Arend’s alive. Aria would know our firstborn lives.”

  Cantor glanced at Bixby, and his concentration faded. What little color her face had held had paled, her eyes brimmed with tears, and her breath came in shallow puffs through parted lips. He withdrew his hand.


  She lost the faraway stare and focused on him.

  He whispered, “Does impress mean that the guard changes the character of these captives?”

  Bixby nodded.

  “How?”

  “I don’t know how, but I know that the young men forget the loving homes they came from. They forget what their families have taught them.”

  “And the king does this?”

  She half shook her head. “Yes and no. There’s another man, called the Croguer. That’s not his name, but his position. His duty is to quell those under the king, but it is thought that he also influences the king to do more wickedness. The king is very much under that evil man’s thumb.”

  “Has the Realm Walkers Council been told?”

  An expression crossed Bixby’s face that reminded Cantor of the looks exchanged between Ahma and Odem.

  “Are you going to pursue a career as a realm walker?” she asked.

  Cantor nodded.

  “Then you will have to know that any good done in the name of the council is done by renegades. These realm walkers follow the urgings of their own conscience and not the orders of the old corrupt hypocrites who rule in Gilead. Surely your mentor has told you this.”

  “Both Ahma and Odem believed in a student being given the facts and then left to puzzle out the situation so that the learning is embedded more deeply than just at the mind’s level.”

  Bixby bobbed her head as if she had heard of that method of teaching before.

  Cantor remained quiet as he contemplated the creature perched in the tree across from him. At this point, he wasn’t even sure Bixby was human. Perhaps she really was a sprite. Her gaze had left him. Judging by the concentration displayed on her face, he supposed she listened to the two brothers, not the forest stirrings.

  “Let’s meet these men,” he said. “We should warn them of the approach of the King’s Guard. Although I think we have put enough distance between them and us that they aren’t an immediate worry.”

  She agreed. “But these men might stumble into their path.”

  “So we should caution them.”

  Her smile came back as she studied him. “And perhaps help them free the captives?”

  He felt his whole being respond to the optimism that guided this unusual woman. This was what he wanted, but he hadn’t dared let the idea gain solid foothold in his brain. He needed no more encouragement than her suggestion.

  Even before finding his dragon and reporting to Gilead, he would begin his life as a realm walker.

  He gave one strong, decisive nod of his head. “Yes. We shall see what we can do.”

  WHAT CAN WE DO?

  Bixby tamped down the excitement bubbling through her veins. Could this young man, who had blundered into the forest and happened to climb a nearby tree, be one of the companions her mentor hinted would enter her life even before she found her dragon?

  Stealing through the forest canopy, Bixby led the way. Cantor followed. His balance matched hers. Neither of them faltered as they used limbs high above the ground as if they were a smooth dirt road. She appreciated his skill and marked it as a plus in her assessment of Cantor as a possible cohort in the plan for the future.

  Still, Cantor might not be the type of comrade she wanted. He certainly didn’t know much about council politics. Clearly he’d not had the exposure to realm walking that her mentor had insisted she have.

  She stopped above the clearing where the two citizens of Effram bemoaned the fate of Arend and all the young men held prisoners by the King’s Guard. Easing down the trunk without stirring so much as a leaf, she got within jumping distance to the men. She looked back at Cantor, caught his eye, nodded once, and dropped silently to the ground.

  Lem and Ruese stood together, fully occupied with their scheming. Ruese stroked his chin, his eyes unfocused as he plotted. “First we’d have to break into Gristermeyer. You realize it’s a walled city.”

  “We could go in before the gate closes for the night.”

  “Fine, excellent, that’s a plan. If you leave out that we have no business in Gristermeyer, nor money to spend pretending we’re gathering supplies.” His voice scraped across Bixby’s nerves with cutting sarcasm. “No one will notice two country fellows loitering in this city, the one notorious for detaining outsiders and sentencing them to hard labor for no reason.”

  “We can sit in a tavern and nurse one drink until you think it’s the right time to get the boys.”

  “That’ll be hours into the night, Lem. We can’t approach the barracks until most everyone is asleep.”

  “We have the time to wait. I’m not doin’ a thing until I can tell Aria her boy is safe.”

  “So we’re going to walk right past the guards in the barracks?” Ruese sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “You think we can just open a locked door and lead a string of men through the city to the closed and locked, as well as guarded, gate?”

  Lem raised his arms above his head, then let them fall. “All you do is think of impossibilities. That’s what you’ve done all your life. My boy’s in trouble. Just keep your eyes on that.”

  The brothers glared at each other.

  Cantor landed lightly behind Bixby. She tossed him an encouraging smile and scooted back to stand beside him.

  Still wearing the grin, she said, “We’d like to help.”

  Both men jumped and spun to face them. Ruese, standing taller than his brother, jerked his hand to a leather-wrapped grip sticking out of a long sheath. Bixby gauged the tense muscles in the man’s neck and the hard glare in his eyes. He carried a serious dagger and a no-nonsense attitude. She’d not rush in and give the man reason to defend himself. Better to disarm him before his weapon left its case. Caution was an instrument of the wise.

  Cantor stepped forward and edged in front of Bixby. “We’re not here to do you harm.”

  Lem relaxed, wiped his hand over his tear-streaked face, and slumped into a round and unimpressive figure.

  Ruese cast a wary eye on Cantor and Bixby. “Where did you come from?”

  Bixby started to reply, but Cantor straightened his shoulders and said, “We’re travelers. But we heard your plight and know that the King’s Guard is acting in defiance of Primen’s precepts. We offer our assistance.”

  Ruese gestured toward Cantor. “I can see how you’d be helpful in a brawl.” He jabbed his chin forward, toward Bixby. “But what’s that wee little girl going to do?”

  Bixby passed Cantor so quickly his hair fanned in the breeze. With two cartwheels she closed in on the unsuspecting farmer. A flip at his side gave her the opportunity to grab his knife from its sheath and plant a heel against his chin, knocking him over. She landed and took several steps back so Ruese couldn’t grab her ankles and upset her.

  “I’m quick,” she said. “And I make up for my lack of size with tricks that surprise and confuse my opponents.”

  She glanced at Cantor. His eyes crinkled at the corners even as he held his lips in a straight line. Another point in his favor. He had a sense of humor.

  She couldn’t help but grant him her most impish smile. She’d have to ask forgiveness of Primen for her unsuitable pride.

  Cantor offered the downed man his hand. Ruese took it and stood.

  Brushing the dust and forest debris from his britches, he grinned. “I guess I underestimated your talent, miss.”

  He made a slight bow as suited a farmer expressing courtesy to a refined lady. “I’m Ruese, miss.” He gestured. “My brother Lem. It’s Lem who’s had a son kidnapped. The boy is Arend.”

  Bixby curtsied, probably a trifle more formally than was needed to greet a laborer. The fact that she had just battered him to the ground made her feel like being a bit generous with her respect. He displayed good humor after being bested, and that showed character.

  She reversed the knife she held, offering the handle as she returned it. “I’m Bixby D’Mazeline. And this is Cantor D’Ahma.”

  “You aren’t nat
ives of Effram.”

  “No. As Cantor said, we’re travelers.”

  Lem shuffled over to join in the conversation. “Are you realm walkers?”

  “Yes,” said Cantor.

  Bixby nodded and cast an approving glance at Cantor. Of course realm walkers tended to pass through a country as quietly as possible. They didn’t call attention to themselves or allow citizens to treat them as special guests. But when they stepped into a fray to protect or guide the people, the realm walkers made sure that the glory went to the established order of realm walkers, to the wizard rulers, and ultimately to Primen. The goal was to serve without taking the credit. Her mentor had said that the more a realm walker avoided the limelight, the more the realm walkers accrued powers and abilities. Humility amplified the gifts given by Primen.

  Cantor’s affirmation that they were realm walkers had aroused interest in the two farmers.

  Ruese slowly shook his head. “We haven’t seen many tyros of late.”

  Lem’s chin bobbed up and down, making his speech choppy. “Where’s your dragon? Have you selected a constant from Effram? Do you not have one? That’s why you came, right? You must be new to it. Real tyros. You look to be as young as my Arend.”

  Bixby pushed aside disappointment. She’d hoped she’d be mistaken for something higher up in the realm walker ranks. But these two farmers had recognized them for what they were: beginners, tyros. She accepted the label since it was accurate.

  “Exactly. We’re two tyros,” said Bixby. “I haven’t met many dragons yet.”

  “I arrived this morning,” said Cantor.

  “And he was fortunate,” said a voice from the woods, “to find his dragon, Bridger, within feet of the portal. Yes, sir. A good day for a realm walker when his dragon is there at the ready.”

  Cantor groaned, “Bridger.” He closed his eyes, and allowed his head to fall back as if he implored the heavens to intervene.

  He looked so put out that Bixby laughed. Cantor wore his attitude on his face and in the postures he adopted. She would have to school him on the unreadable expression necessary in their line of work.