One Realm Beyond (Realm Walkers)

by Donita K. Paul

  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.

  Bixby squealed. “Don’t hit me in the face with it.”

  Cantor laughed, picked her up, and put her down behind him, then ran. He could hear her feet scrabbling on the crushed shell driveway. He’d have to run all out to beat her.

  The walking path just below the top identified which hill they were to use. Cantor noted that it was not at all a mountain, but still a very tall hill.

  The path from the base wandered back and forth rather than going straight up, making the route longer but less steep. Someone had made an effort to smooth the track, which was largely clear of rocks and tree roots. Trimmed bushes lined part of the course. Benches perched on the edge so that one could sit and enjoy the view. Cantor raced by the resting spots without a second glance.

  When he came to a place where he could see the crest of the hill and the intersection with the circular walk, he slowed enough to glance over his shoulder. Abruptly he stopped. Bixby wasn’t following. He trotted back to the last curve and peered over the edge. Several bends below, she sat on one of the benches. Bushes and small trees partially blocked his view.

  “Bixby! What are you doing?”

  She didn’t respond to his call. Without another thought, he plunged down the trail to see what was wrong. When he made the last turn, he saw she had her shoes off, one foot rested on the opposite knee, and she was wiping tears from her cheeks.

  What could be the matter? A sprained ankle? He dropped to his knees in front of her and reached for her foot. She jerked it back and tucked her skirt around it. “What happened? Did you fall?”

  “I never fall.”

  He looked up at her face. She sniffed and looked away.

  “All right. So what happened to your foot?”

  “I twisted it because I’m wearing the wrong shoes, and I’ve got big blisters starting. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

  “You’re definitely not stupid, Bix.”

  “What good is intelligence if you rush off without using it?”

  He shrugged. He didn’t have any words to say, because he honestly didn’t see why she was all in a dither. When Ahma overreacted, he found the best thing to do was wait. Wait and say nothing. Especially say nothing. So he waited, and said nothing.

  She looked down at her hands. “Cantor, I might not be able to train as a realm walker.”

  “Why?”

  “I looked at those lists. I knew what to expect, but I thought maybe I could get by without actually having to do everything. I think Dukmee is going to make us do everything and do everything well. There are things I just can’t do.”

  “Good.”

  “Good?”

  “Yeah, I was beginning to think there was nothing you couldn’t do, and in fact, you had already done almost everything.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She looked away for a few moments.

  Cantor waited. He figured it wasn’t safe yet to talk.

  “I’m not even sure I want to be a realm walker. But since I can see the portals, then I guess I should try.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “My father would be very pleased if I became a realm walker, but only if I were a very good realm walker.”

  “Does he know about the state of the council? About the graft and corruption?”

  “Yes, but I don’t think he realizes how rampant it is.”

  “It has occurred to me that we may end up being rebels.”

  Her eyes grew big. “Rebels?”

  “If it’s true that there are only three council members who aren’t dishonest, then we don’t have much chance of making things better within the s
ystem. We may have to organize a second guild.”

  Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth, then slammed it shut. A moment later she shook her head so vigorously her hair shed the few pins supposedly taming the mop. “That’s crazy.”

  “Yes, I know it is. I sure would like to talk to Odem and Ahma.” He picked up her shoes and handed them to her, then lifted her into his arms. “Well, we messed up our first challenge. Let’s go back to Dukmee and get your feet taken care of. And don’t say a word about my radical ideas. I don’t want to be thrown out on my first day.”

  A SMALL THING

  If you did it by accident, you can do it on purpose.”

  Bixby groaned. If Dukmee used that reasoning one more time, she’d explode. Why did she ever think he was interesting? Had she really wanted to study under him when they first met at his healer’s shop?

  “Quit wasting your time complaining and put your mind to the task.”

  Great! He was reading her mind. She forced herself to sit straighter on the padded bench across from his desk. The library fireplace lay cold and so did the rest of the room. She shivered, wishing she had another layer of warmer clothing over her assortment of quiet colors. If she’d known she would be trapped in this mausoleum, she would have turned her thermea skin inside out.

  Her conscience smote her. The vilta given to Dukmee for his use was a lovely, luxurious home. Servants kept up the house and the grounds efficiently and, for the most part, quietly. Sometimes she’d look up and see one working and wonder when the man or woman had come into the room. Their quarters here outshone the Moor at every level. The vilta was luxurious, certainly not a mausoleum, but even her parents’ palace felt more like a home.

  Bixby made a conscious effort to control her tone of voice. She didn’t want to sound like whining royalty. “Perhaps if I used one of my tiaras, I could focus on a portal and open it.”

  “Not everyone has been gifted with a hamper full of crowns. Everything you do with the crowns, you can do on your own.”

  Now that can’t be right. Mother still uses tiaras from time to time.

  “Your mother uses them as a fashion accessory.”

  “How do you know that? Have you ever met my mother? And quit reading my mind.”

  Dukmee grinned at her, but instead of the expression being pleasant, he looked maniacal. She leaned away from him, half expecting his eyes to glow red.

  He relaxed. The menacing persona faded. “You really do have an imagination.” He came to sit next to her. “If it bothers you that I’m reading your mind, all you have to do is shield it.”

  Bixby sighed. “But not with a crown.”

  “All right. We’ll try a different approach. Get out your mind-shielding tiara.”

  Bixby quickly pulled out the hamper holding her crowns, circlets, and tiaras. With the right headdress resting on her billowy blonde curls, she turned a confident smile toward her mentor.

  “Now, I want you to concentrate. Close your eyes and feel the hedge that has been put around your thoughts. Try to visualize what it looks like.”

  Bixby closed her eyes and, after a few moments, nodded.

  “Fine. Now I’m going to try to get through the barrier. I want you to feel the pushes against the hedge.”

  They sat in silence, but Bixby worked hard to pinpoint exactly where Dukmee’s energy prodded her defense. The mental exercise was enough to warm her so that she no longer felt the chill in the air.

  “Nod each time you feel my intrusion.”

  Again she concentrated.

  “I want you to feel the guarding wall and nothing else. Ignore everything but the problem at hand.”

  Bixby’s awareness of the hedge and the probes grew. This lesson was the most pleasant she’d had since their rounds had begun. She smiled a bit, realizing that her thought had not been read by her mentor.

  “Good, good. Your nods are matching the timing of my probes.”

  Dukmee touched her shoulder. “You’ve done well. You can open your eyes now.”

  She grinned as she obeyed the command, but the smile slipped from her face as her mouth dropped open. Dukmee sat before her with the tiara in his hands. She reached up and felt the top of her head. Nothing but hair, an abundance of curly, unruly hair.

  “When did you take the tiara off my head?”

  “About fifteen minutes ago.”

  “I’ve been guarding my thoughts on my own?”

  Dukmee’s eyes twinkled as he nodded. “Now jog up the mountain and back, then swim across the river, pulling the rowboat.”

  She scrunched up her face at him, but she couldn’t really be mad. She’d done something new. In all her years with various mentors, most of her achievements had been memorizing or absorbing knowledge. She also did handiwork type projects with dexterity. But weaving a piece of material, creating a ruffle in a skirt, or mending socks without a needle didn’t make her feel like crowing.

  As he went through the ancient rituals of the warriors’ Aray Anona Yara, Cantor listed the planes, their countries, their capitals, the type of government, industries, and form of worship. He’d found that if he timed it right, he’d finish the memorized geography one set before the end of his regimen. Then if he’d succeeded in the mental task, he’d throw extra enthusiasm into the final set of Aray Anona Yara.

  Most days, Bridger joined him for this training. Today the dragon had been given a treasure hunt-type list and ordered off to find each item.

  Dukmee waited for Cantor after he came back from the river.

  “How was your swim?”

  Cantor talked from under a towel he used to rub his hair dry. “I think I’m ready to pass all the proficiencies on that page. I’ll have another round marked off.”

  “We’ll have to go to the falls for your high dive. We’ll make a day of it. We can ask the dragons to transport us, and Bixby to provide the food. She should be working on her animal, vegetable, and fruit requirement.”

  “She’s already a good cook.”

  “As you know, that page is a bit more inclusive than people generally think.” Dukmee pointed toward the main building of the vilta. “Meet me in my office, and we’ll test your geography. I feel confident you can pass.” He paused. “Now, why do I get that response from you?”

  Cantor hung the towel around his shoulders. “What do you mean?”

  Dukmee shook his head and sighed. “Why do you ask that question when you know what I mean and you know that I know what you mean? It’s a waste of time.” The healer’s face lost all friendliness and he glared at Cantor. “Just answer.”

  “I’d like to do the questions orally. You’ll ask and I’ll answer.”

  “Part of the test is spelling.”

  “I can spell the names and words, and I could even spell the numbers if you wish.”

  “No. Don’t take too long getting into dry clothes. I want this done before we eat our evening meal.”

  Cantor fumed as he went to his quarters, and he realized that as long as he was in the same compound as Dukmee, his mentor would know he chafed at the order. But he’d obey. He thought of Ahma and her herb tea that helped him relax. As he stepped into the bath, he hoped he could make himself pick up the pencil.

  To take his mind off the actual test, he ran through the litany of planes and their pertinent facts. He kept his mind occupied until he stood before Dukmee’s office door.

  He lifted his hand to knock, and his mentor called, “Come in.”

  Dukmee spoke without looking up. “I’m in the middle of something. Have a seat and I’ll be right with you.”

  Cantor sighed in relief. “I’ll not disturb you. I can wait outside.”

  “Sit down.”

  Cantor took the chair positioned across the room. He sat on his hands and willed his mind to recite the facts he needed for the test.

  The nearness of the writing instruments broke through. He took slow, deep breaths to counter the panic rising in his throat. His discomfort increased. Dukmee must ha
ve had a hundred pencils and pens in that desk.

  He closed his eyes and pulled up images of his home with Ahma. The picture detailed every tree, every large rock, and each log in the walls. He concentrated on the smell of her baked bread and the stews she simmered at the hearth, and the odor of wet dog. Tom had loved to jump in the lake and swim, then return home to dry in front of the fire.

  The scene blurred. His skin tingled as the pencils and pens demanded attention. He realized he’d pulled his hands out from under his thighs and placed them on his knees. He clenched them into fists, and the strength of his effort made his muscles sore. He really could not stay in this room any longer.

  He stood. Dukmee also rose behind his desk, his eyes on Cantor.

  Cantor tried to speak. His voice caught, and he tried again. “I have to go out.”

  Dukmee nodded solemnly and pointed to the double glass doors that led to the veranda. “We’ll talk out there.”

  Cantor bolted for the doors. He flung them open and raced across the broad surface made from blocks of stone, not stopping until he hit the balustrade on the outer edge. Embarrassed, he tried to get his breathing under control. Too soon, Dukmee rested his hip against the stone railing, and he watched Cantor’s face.

  “So,” Cantor said, trying to sound normal, “did you finish whatever you were in the middle of?”

  “Yes.” Dukmee put his hand on Cantor’s shoulder. “I’ve ordered a drink for you. It will help you recover.”

  Cantor turned to look at the other man. Instead of the stern mentor façade, Dukmee looked concerned and compassionate, a healer at the bedside of a patient.

  “The something I was in the middle of was figuring out what causes you such distress. And yes, I now know.”

  Cantor gritted his teeth. “A stupid fear.”

  “The fear has come about because no one understood what happens when you’re near a pencil.”

  “And you do?”

  Dukmee nodded with a confident smile warming his expression.

  “Here’s your drink.” He motioned to a servant who carried a tray, then offered a tall glass of a bubbling, clear liquid to Cantor.