One Realm Beyond

by Donita K. Paul

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “I stood up. Jesha had put herself in a spot of sun, intending to take a nap. But it was right where people walked, and I thought she’d get stepped on or would cause someone to trip. I got up. A man stepped on her. He tripped. A waiter pushed the beverage cart into the walkway. The man fell against it. A bucket of whipped cream catapulted into the air. The man and cart went down. The bucket came down.”

  Cantor didn’t like the choppy sentences coming out of Bridger’s mouth. He’d lost his eloquence, surely a sign of despair. The dragon probably thought he was too clumsy to be a realm walker’s constant. He was inept.

  Bixby patted Bridger’s arm. “I’m so sorry, but it could have happened to anyone.”

  Cantor had never seen Bridger so contrite over one of his mishaps.

  Dukmee spoke up, his eyes sparkling with good humor. “Like I’ve been telling you, Bridger, it’s all right. No one was hurt. And that pink fluffy stuff rather made the whole place a bit more inviting and boosted the ambiance. The café’s whole tone softened from iron, brick, and concrete to an impression of understated gaiety.”

  They didn’t seem to be reaching beyond Bridger’s remorse. Cantor hated to see him looking so glum.

  “Hey, Bridge.”

  Bridger’s eyes came up to meet Cantor’s.

  Cantor pressed his lips together, trying not to say something that would pin him to this dragon for the rest of his life. “We start rounds tomorrow. And we don’t want anyone looking at us as if we’re not a normal partnership. You’ll have to pretend there is no friction between us. I won’t say anything about going back to Effram sometime in the future. You know, looking for my real constant. And you have to remember not to say the stuff you say, trying to get me to commit. Training is going to be tough all by itself. We don’t want to worry about the authorities realizing we are just pretending to be constants. We’re going to do such a good job of pretending to be a team that we will actually be a good team—for now.”

  The sorrow in Bridger’s eyes lifted. He didn’t quite have the eagerness for life that usually twinkled there, but he looked better. Cantor smiled at him and was rewarded with the huge toothy grin that always made the dragon look happily vicious.

  The waiter came to take their orders. Once they’d gotten that business out of the way, Dukmee looked around the circle as if sizing up each of his companions.

  “Speaking of rounds.” Dukmee put his palms together and steepled his forefingers. “I have some news.”

  Cantor and the others gave him their attention.

  “I’ve been told who your mentor will be.”

  Bixby bounced in her chair. “Cantor and I are going to have the same mentor?”

  “That’s true.”

  “Why?” asked Cantor. “The Moor is mostly vacant. Surely there are enough mentors to handle two more initiates.”

  “I don’t think it has anything to do with numbers.”

  Bixby bounced again. Her ribbons and lace danced on her tiny form. “Who is it?”

  Dukmee took a moment to look each of them in the eye. “Me.”

  If he’d wanted a gasp of astonishment, he got it times three.

  Cantor emerged from a stunned state first. “How can that be? You aren’t a council member, are you? And I got the distinct impression at the recorder’s office yesterday that they didn’t appreciate our presenting the case for Effram.”

  Dukmee nodded. “I got an inkling of their disdain.” He smiled. “That may be one of the reasons they’ve assigned me to you. They hope to keep me so busy I won’t be able to further investigate the conspiracy in the guild. Plus, we’ll be forced to use facilities outside of the main hall.”

  He held up a finger to make a point. “That I lay at your door. I believe they don’t want you two constantly under foot. And Totobee-Rodolow is known for being clever and honest. They can’t want her around with her keen observing and deductive prowess.”

  Bridger looked like he was going to say something, but his eyes shifted. “Here’s our breakfast.”

  The waiter distributed eggs, bacon, muffins, and juice to his customers. After asking if there was anything else the party required, he went off to take care of others.

  Dukmee leaned toward Bixby and whispered, “It’s time you put on your hearing tiara, Bixby. You can listen while we remain silent and eat. Find out what others are saying about Toolooknaut’s Effram article.”

  As she searched for the right hamper, she looked worried. “You can hear them too, can’t you?”

  “Yes, I can. We’ll compare our discoveries later.”

  She pulled out a hamper and soon wore an attractive and unobtrusive bronze crown. She put a finger to her lips and giggled.

  SANCTUARY

  From breakfast, the friends had to hustle to get to Sanctuary on time. Bixby slipped into a ladies’ room to change. She’d been wearing a quiet mix of clothing, but she almost always wore her joyful outfits to attend Primen Worship. She came out wrapped in reds, oranges, greens, and a bit of black for contrast. She wore her most elaborate crown bedecked with brilliant gems, which did very little but reminded her to be humble and respectful during the service.

  She found Cantor and Bridger next to the entry. Jesha hid under one of her dragon’s wings. Bixby heard her purring.

  “Where’s Dukmee?”

  Cantor used his thumb to indicate the sanctuary. “Totobee-Rodolow came, and he’s sitting with her.”

  “Oh, I hope we can squeeze into their pew. I’d like to sit with them.”

  Cantor raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think that will be a problem.”

  As soon as they stepped through the doors, Bixby understood. In a sanctuary that could have held a thousand worshipers, less than a hundred sat scattered around in the beautiful carved and polished pews.

  Cantor leaned toward her. “I believe we had more in attendance in the wee sanctuary at home.”

  Bixby saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She glanced that way and saw Feymare standing between two pillars. When she blinked, he was gone, replaced by a lifelike bronzed statue of one of the peacemakers mentioned in Primen’s Book. Blaming the dim light, she turned to study the walls on either side of the pews. Many life-size statues filled the alcoves. Some were easily recognizable, but she didn’t know the names of all of the people depicted.

  Cantor offered his arm in a gentleman’s gesture. She laughed to herself that the country boy so quickly picked up city manners. Bridger followed them to the pew where Totobee-Rodolow and Dukmee sat. A flute and violin played the Contemplative Moment arrangements. Bixby recognized some of the bits from the pieces played at the Contemplative Moment in the sanctuary next to the palace. They sounded different — more melancholy — when only two instruments joined forces.

  Two cantors in robes came out on the dais. Turning to face the congregation, they opened their books. In clear voices, they intoned a chant. After the first stanza, twenty more cantors joined them. When this group sang, Bixby grew goose bumps. She rubbed her arms and glanced at Cantor, whose expression showed his fascination with the music. She remembered then that Ahma had said it was a sign of his realm walker gift to be named for a contributor in this sacred form of worship.

  The beginning of their time in Sanctuary brought memories of her childhood. All of her mentors had taken her to services, but the depth of worship fluctuated. As the hour proceeded, her disappointment grew. The homily given by a man in elaborate robes said little other than to try to think good thoughts. According to the speaker, this practice of thinking good thoughts would order the rest of your life. As if thinking about daisies would eradicate sewer problems.

  Disgusted, she let her mind and her eyes wander. The light of candles and sun did nothing to warm the large room. Bixby peered upward at a ceiling boasting twelve skylights. Even though the sun beamed outdoors, little came through the rooftop domes. She puzzled at this for a while — it wasn’t logical. The noonday sun s
hould be flooding the sanctuary with a golden glow.

  Unable to come up with an explanation, she soon gave up and tried to interest herself in the artwork surrounding her. Shadows hid most of the statues lining the walls. She wondered who mistakenly put the sculpture art against the wall and the columns between the statues two feet in front. Of course, the ornate carvings in the tall wooden columns could be seen and inspected. At first she thought they were pictographs of stories she knew. But as she studied the ones closest to her, she realized that none of them fit with tales in the Book.

  The strain on her eyes responded to the simple remedy of closing them. Praying that she wouldn’t go to sleep, she bowed her head so that no one could see her lack of interest.

  She gladly stood when the cantors sang out the blessings that ended the service. While the cantors held the note of the last word of each line, the people answered.

  Truth is in Primen’s heart

  And so are we

  Primen’s heart is strong

  And will contain me

  Primen’s heart is great

  And will sustain me

  Primen’s heart is gentle

  And will hold me

  Primen’s heart is wise

  And will quiet me

  Primen’s heart is aware

  And will prepare me

  Primen’s heart is artful

  And will form me

  Primen’s heart is faithful

  And will renew me

  Primen’s heart is careful

  And will comfort me

  Primen’s heart that shelters you will never let you down

  Primen’s heart that shelters me will never let me down

  So believe

  So believe

  Carry Truth

  Carry Truth

  So be it

  So be it forevermore

  The next exercise included the cantors’ solemn plea for righteousness and the slightly reworded response by the congregation.

  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.”