Two Renegade Realms

by Donita K. Paul

“There it is.” Neekoh spread his arms out, indicating the view before them. “It’s called Bright Valley, and it’s the resting place of Chomountain.”

  Cantor grunted. “Don’t you mean the prison of Chomountain?”

  “It’s never looked prisonish to me.”

  “It looks vast and full of hiding places to me,” said Bridger. “It’ll take days to cover all that territory. But I suppose you’re going to say again that you just know he’s here but you don’t know where.”

  Neekoh looked as cheerful as Bridger looked grumpy. He nodded. “You’re exactly right. I say, you’re clever. I’ve never known a dragon before, but I didn’t expect one to be so smart.”

  The young man looked back and forth between Bridger and Cantor. “Let’s make camp. I like sleeping out under the stars, and even though I could, I don’t. I know how to make a good fire too, and how to cook. It will be fun to camp with friends rather than all by myself.”

  Cantor nodded, then pointed to the towers of rock. “What do you know about that, Neekoh? Is it a ruined palace, a temple, a fortress, or just rocks?”

  Neekoh shrugged. “We’ll have to go see. I’ve never been past the tunnel entrance.”

  Bridger led the way down the sloping valley wall. No trail guided them on their descent, rather the dragon slashed at the heavy underbrush and cleared a path.

  Once Cantor’s eyes grew accustomed to the bright light and the endless shades of green that confronted them, he discerned patches of meadowland, acres of bushes, and different varieties of trees. Some foliage clustered with like kind. Others mixed with a wide assortment of plant life.

  Bridger stopped at the first clearing on level ground. Neekoh and Cantor freed Bixby and Dukmee and laid them on the thick, soft grass. Cantor gently shook them each in turn, trying to rouse some kind of response, but in vain.

  Neekoh hovered behind Cantor. “What do you think is wrong with them? Why aren’t you asleep? You look like them.”

  His suspicions that Bixby and Dukmee were cut of the same cloth seemed validated. Bixby, with her remarkable talents, and Dukmee, with his different roles in life, excelled at many tasks. In the ancient times, beings existed with unimaginable gifts. The strain had died out, but occasionally a “throw-back” would surface. He knew Bixby’s mother had astounded her generation with her abilities, and Bixby had surpassed her mother.

  How much should he share with Neekoh? He still didn’t trust the young man. “If the toombalians are real and made an effort to end our journey across the lake, then their efforts only partially succeeded. I suspect there’s something in Dukmee and Bixby’s bodies that makes them susceptible. Like some people are allergic to a particular food. Or those people who always catch a cold twice a year while others never get sick.”

  Neekoh rubbed his hands together, a happy gleam in his eye. Obviously, sticky little problems were not as exciting as tackling a monumental search. He grinned at Cantor. “I’ll scout the immediate area.”

  Before Cantor could respond, Neekoh had taken off into the thick woods.

  Bridger lumbered back into the clearing, carrying an armload of sticks. “I’m thinking that the temperature will drop once the sun goes down behind the rim of the valley. What kind of geological formation do you think this is? It’s so much like a bowl, I first thought it might be a dead volcano. But that can’t be right. There aren’t any volcanoes on our planes, only on ball planets like Ether and Elyn.”

  Cantor’s eyes widened. “Have you been to those planes? They’re in another galaxy.”

  “No.” Bridger rolled his eyes. “Of course not! But my sister was able to open portals we could see through. She couldn’t overcome the problem of the portal not opening on the planets but above the planets. So we could see but not touch.”

  “Amazing. And what’s a volcano?”

  “Ball planets have a core of liquid rock, and it spews out to make cone-shaped mountains. Totobee-Rodolow has been helping scientists examine Ether and Elyn. Yes, my sister is a lot more competent and a lot less flighty than she appears. And those scientists! The things they figure out just by looking. It’s amazing.” He paused in his arrangement of the kindling. “Unless their theories are all wrong. Then it’s just a waste of time.”

  He breathed fire on his pile of sticks and set it ablaze. “I’m starving. And I don’t want to wait for the fire to settle into nice coals. Let’s not cook a dinner. We have enough to snack from your hampers, don’t we?”

  Neekoh came into the camp with a handkerchief full of berries. “There’s lots to eat in this valley. I bet Chomountain has been cultivating plants that can be harvested. I saw fruits, vegetables, and grains. Perhaps tomorrow we’ll find him.”

  Cantor’s suspicions swirled in his thoughts. “How is it you know about cultivating and harvesting?”

  “Books. There are two more libraries in the mountain.”

  He handed the berries to Cantor and picked up a stone. Busy with his own thoughts, he worked to put several flat rocks around the blaze. “We can cook with these.”

  Cantor stifled a yawn. “Good idea, Neekoh, but we’re skipping cooked food tonight. We need rest more than stew.”

  Neekoh’s face fell in disappointment. “I could cook while you rest.”

  “You wouldn’t be able to wake us up. Just put it on hold for tomorrow morning. We’ll need nourishment then. This is a huge basin. Our best option is to send Bridger up to look over the valley to pinpoint likely spots. If we’re lucky, maybe even find Chomountain.” He held back a yawn. “I’m going to eat and turn in.”

  Cantor looked away from Neekoh’s disappointed face. He was too tired to fuss with a campfire and he’d made a reasonable decision. Neekoh’s sad eyes wouldn’t work on him tonight. He admitted to being a little chagrined and said, “We’ll worry about tomorrow when the sun comes up.”

  TROUT

  Bridger’s raspy voice stirred Cantor from a deep sleep. He pried his eyes open. Streaks of sunlight burst from the trees and crossed the clearing with thin stripes. Cantor sat up, shook his head, and rubbed his hand over his face.

  Bridger coughed.

  “Are you all right, Bridge?”

  “Sore throat, deep cough, achy all over.”

  “Sounds miserable.”

  “I feared you weren’t going to wake up. Bixby and Dukmee have not stirred.”

  “Where’s Neekoh?”

  “Getting two more buckets of water from the stream.”

  A rustling among the bushes announced Neekoh’s return. Soot streaked his face, but his lips stretched in a wide grin. “I’ve put out two fires caused by your dragon’s coughing. He seems to have it under control now. But it was exciting. I like having others around.”

  Cantor turned back to Bridger. The dragon sat beneath a tree, and Jesha crouched beside him, tilted ears showing her grouchy mood. The cat’s favorite perch was on Bridger. Apparently, she didn’t like his hacking and sniffling. She stood and strolled with an elegant air to settle down beside Bixby.

  Cantor wanted Chomountain found. He looked at Bridger’s red nose and eyes. “Do you feel well enough to scout the area?”

  “Sure. I’m hoping Chomountain has a cure for this cold. Neekoh gave me some herb tea, but it tasted like boiled swampweed, and I had a hard time swallowing it.”

  Neekoh stirred up the coals from the night before and added wood. “It has to taste bad to do you any good.”

  Bridger growled, or maybe he just cleared his throat. “You said that before, Neekoh, and I told you it isn’t true.”

  Cantor stood. “I know both Dukmee and Bixby carry medicinal herbs, but I wouldn’t know which ones to give you. Neekoh, could you watch our sleepy friends while I go with Bridger to look for Chomountain?”

  “I’d be delighted. Do you want me to try to wake them periodically? It would give me something to do.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt.” Cantor pushed aside a pang of reluctance. Neekoh hadn’t been with them long enough to have earned his tr
ust, but Bixby said he had no unpleasant auras. He’d have to give the young man a chance. “Remember, be gentle.”

  Bridger rested against the tree. “You’re not ready to go. I’ll take a nap.”

  Neekoh shook his head with his ever-present smile in place. “Everyone is sleepy. You people from the outside are peculiar.”

  “I’m not tired, and neither is Jesha. The others aren’t normally so sluggish. Once we find out what’s wrong, and if Chomountain has a cure, we’ll be alert and lively. I promise.”

  Cantor washed and shaved. He changed into fresh clothing and checked on Dukmee and Bixby one more time. With a bread and cheese sandwich in his hand, he approached the dragon.

  “Let’s go, Bridge, if you’re sure you can make the flight.”

  “I’ll be more comfortable doing something, instead of lolling around moaning.”

  Cantor climbed on. Bridger had provided a saddle. As they took off, Cantor waved to Neekoh, who hopped around with enthusiasm over watching the dragon take flight.

  “He certainly is a happy fellow,” Cantor observed.

  By mutual and unspoken consent, they started a zigzag search pattern. Cantor felt Bridger’s fatigue and wanted to head back to the camp after four sweeps of the valley. He was just about to make the suggestion, when Bridger tensed beneath him.

  “Would you look at that?” Bridger swooped toward a larger river. “There’s a fisherman.”

  Cantor spotted the man standing in the shallow water. “Could we have found Chomountain this easily?”

  “Neekoh didn’t say there was anyone else in Bright Valley, so I suppose we have.”

  He banked and circled, coming at a good angle to land. A sandbar jutted out into a bend in the river. As they approached, the fisherman pulled in his line and waded ashore to meet them.

  Of a wiry and slim build, the man was old, with short-cropped white hair and a long white beard. Suntanned and spry, he wore blue pants tucked into rubber waders and a plain green shirt, also tucked in. His belt was of fine leather tooled with a fancy design.

  He waved as he came near. “You’re the first visitors I’ve had in a very long time.”

  “You have visitors?” Cantor slid off Bridger’s back and onto the sandy bank.

  “Once in a while. They always try to lure me out of the valley, but I like it here.” The fisherman reached out a hand to shake as he crossed the last few yards. “Welcome to Bright Valley.”

  “My name’s Cantor D’Ahma, and this is my friend Bridger-Bigelow.”

  Bridger grasped the man’s hand. “Thank you, sir. You’re Chomountain, if I’m not mistaken.”

  The old man laughed. “Well, you are mistaken, sonny. My name’s Trout. Old Trout, nowadays. I’ve more than a few winters under my belt.”

  “You’re not —?” Cantor paused to gather his wits. Were they in the right valley? Was Chomountain here? Anywhere? Was the right hand of Primen still alive? Had they been delayed on their mission for nothing? “Do you know Chomountain? Is he here?”

  “Chomountain? Seems like I knew something about a Chomountain years ago.” Looking at the ground, the old man appeared to be thinking. He shook his head. “Can’t say he’s here, if you mean here in the valley. I rarely cross paths with anyone. I live here. Have lived here for many years.” He looked up.

  Cantor thought his expression very sad. Surely this old man knew something. Hadn’t Neekoh said that Chomountain had lost his memories? Maybe these sad eyes testified to having forgotten who he is.

  Trout grimaced. “Sorry I can’t help you. First time I’ve had visitors in lo these many years, and I can’t give ’em what they need.” His face brightened. “Could be you need something else. And I can help you with that.”

  Cantor frowned. “When did you come to the valley? How did you get in?”

  “I came with my parents through the East Gate. I was just a wee lad and had seven brothers older than me. Over the years I've laid each to rest, everyone, one by one.” He looked from Bridger to Cantor and back to the dragon. “Now isn’t there some way I could be a good host and help you out?”

  Cantor gestured toward Bridger, who had stepped back, observing. “My friend here has a cold, and I have two more traveling companions who have been struck down with some kind of sleeping disorder.”

  Trout snapped his fingers and pointed to the sky. “Now that, I can help you with.” He turned and strode toward the water. “Just let me get my fishing gear, and we’ll go by my house to pick up a few things.”

  “We also have a young man with us. He’s part of the ward that protected Chomountain. His name is Neekoh.” Cantor watched Trout closely in hopes that Neekoh’s name might register with him.

  The man’s stride never faltered. “Do you like to fish?”

  Apparently, Old Trout didn’t know anything about Neekoh.

  “Yes, I fished at a lake near my home on Dairine.”

  “I fish a lot.” Old Trout pulled his catch on a string out of the water. “Where are the rest of your party?”

  “We camped at the base of the ridge, near the tunnel that leads to the outside.”

  “There’s a tunnel leading to the outside, you say? Never knew that.”

  “It’s been closed. With a ward. To keep Chomountain inside.”

  Old Trout motioned them to come along as he followed a track through the woods. Bridger had to shrink a bit before he could manage the trail.

  The old man set a brisk pace, and he talked over his shoulder as they went. “Must not have worked very well, because obviously, he got out. If he's still here and I can, I’ll help you to find this man, Chomountain. Why do you think he’s in Bright Valley?”

  Cantor ran his hand through his hair. He didn’t want frustration to make his voice sharp. “Well, because there was a ward designed to trap him in here. If he wasn’t here, there would be no need for a ward.”

  “That sounds logical. Here’s my home, humble and cozy.”

  They broke through the last of the trees and came into a small meadow. A log cabin stood to one side with a garden, an old-fashioned water well, a chicken coop, and a seven-by-seven-foot animal pen. Rabbits hopped among the plants in the vegetable patch.

  Old Trout spoke to the two goats in the pen and waved a greeting to the rabbits and the chickens. He left his fishing gear on the porch. “One minute and I’ll grab my herb satchel.”

  “Do you want us to chase the rabbits from the garden?” Cantor asked.

  Old Trout stopped suddenly and turned about. “Why would you want to do that?”

  “So they won’t eat all your food.”

  The old man frowned. “But that’s not my food. I only take the leftovers.”

  He ducked inside and came out with a wide-brimmed, floppy hat on his head and the strap of a green leather bag over his shoulder. He carried a pair of soft leather shoes. Using a boot jack built into the wood slats of the porch, he pried off his waders, then sat on the steps to put on his shoes.

  “Have you got a frying pan, a kettle, and eating utensils?” Old Trout stood and hitched up his trousers.

  “Yes, we do.”

  The fisherman grabbed his string of fish. “Good. Let’s go make some breakfast.”

  He headed off through the forest, and Cantor followed. Bridger fell in behind, grumbling.

  “What did you say, Bridge?”

  “I said I’m tired. Slept all night and I’m tired.”

  “You’re sick. I hope Old Trout’s remedy works. It doesn’t look like he’ll be of much help finding Chomountain.”

  Bridger coughed. “What if he is Chomountain and just doesn’t remember?”

  “Then we’ll have to find evidence that he is and convince him.”

  The trail led to their camp, although the place where they stepped out of the woods wasn’t obvious from the other end.

  Neekoh jumped up when Old Trout stepped into the open area. “Chomountain!”

  The old man held up a hand. “No, no, no. Name's Tro
ut. Your friends made the same mistake. I brought breakfast. Get out a frying pan and we’ll cook this fish. I’ve got herbs for the dragon’s cold too, so heat up some water.”

  Neekoh looked at Cantor with his face twisted in disbelief. Cantor sympathized. The poor young man had just been disillusioned in his life’s work. Neekoh studied the fisherman.

  His voice squeaked. “Do you know where Chomountain is?”

  “Can’t say that I do, but I’ll help you look for him. I’ve been thinking of some places he might be, places in the valley where I wouldn’t run into him.”

  Neekoh’s face stiffened. “Who told you your name is Trout?”

  Old Trout tramped over to look down at the two sleepers. “Oh, I suppose it was one of my brothers. Older brothers do tend to give little brothers strange nicknames.”

  Neekoh wasn’t ready to give up. “What did your parents call you?”

  “Young Trout. Now people say Old Trout.” He paused in examining the sleeping duo and concentrated his attention on Neekoh. “For obvious reasons, don’t you think?”

  Cantor came up beside Trout. “Do you have any idea what could be wrong with them?”

  He shook his head. “No spots or fever or delirious caterwauling?”

  “No, just sleeping.”

  Old Trout shrugged and turned back to the business of making breakfast. “Could be they’re hungry. That might be what ails them.”

  Cantor shook his head. “They fell asleep right after our noon meal yesterday. I don’t think hunger put them to sleep.”

  “That doesn’t mean hunger won’t be what wakes them up. Let’s get this food on. Nothing beats the smell of sizzling fish, and I brought dough for biscuits as well.”

  He crouched beside the fire, opened his satchel, and pulled out a small cloth bag, a rag, and a larger sack. Neekoh placed the kettle, a frying pan, and a large fork on the flat rocks he’d brought close.

  Old Trout opened the lid of the kettle and peeked inside. He hummed as he pinched herbs from the smaller bag and scattered them over the water. He pushed both rock and kettle closer to the flames.

  He grabbed the oily looking rag and wiped the inside of the frying pan.