The beasts of Barakhai bob-1

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  A strained silence followed, into which Collins wanted to insert something clever that might finally bridge the gap between them. Instead, a question came to mind. He wanted to know why discussing her petting spots shamed her more than switching to human form buck naked. Wisely, he put aside that train of thought for a safer one. "I guess it's just us till Zylas becomes a man again."

  Ialin strolled to them, crunching something between his teeth and carrying handfuls of leaves and stems. He turned Collins a withering, imperious look, then focused on Falima. He remained standing, the only position that allowed the tiny man to tower over his seated companions. He spoke in the language of Barakhai.

  Falima's reply took much longer as she, apparently, filled him in on the conversation to date.

  With the memory of Bill and Jean Dusumter in his mind, Collins studied Ialin. The hummingbird/man, too, could pass for a slight, curveless woman. For an instant, the thought that he might have made the same mistake twice swept through Collins, banished by the memory of Zylas' use of the pronoun "he" to refer to the hummingbird's human form. Of course, Zylas' English is rather primitive.

  Falima addressed Collins again. "Zylas will not desert us just because he is in switch-form."

  The dog stretched its legs, pressing its back against Collins, groaned, and dropped back off to sleep.

  Collins nodded, certain Falima spoke the truth. "I just meant we won't have a way to talk to him until he's… until he's human."

  "I will." Falima patted her tummy and tossed her black hair, highlights of scarlet, purple, and green shifting through her tresses.

  "You will?" Hope rose in a wild rush. "You can… you can…" Collins barely dared to believe. "… talk to each other in animal form?"

  Falima held a brief exchange with Ialin that left the man snickering before replying, "Not usually. But Zylas is older. He has good, solid overlap between his forms; I know of no one with more. And I still have his translation stone." Her blue gaze hardened. "Thanks to you."

  Collins stroked the dog's side, and its tail thumped in gratitude. In addition to a near-flawless grasp of English, Falima had clearly mastered sarcasm. "I'm sorry." He wondered how many times he would have to apologize before Falima would forgive him, hoping she would not prove as difficult to appease as Marlys. Maybe it's a woman thing.

  Apparently mistaking Collins' attention to the dog for an unspoken question, Falima said, "No, I cannot talk to him. He has little or no overlap. He might not even have reached coming-of-age yet."

  "Coming-of-age?" Collins repeated. That brought to mind David Fein's bar mitzvah, expanding lip disks, and quests to kill wild boars and leopards.

  Ialin made a grunted comment to which Falima responded before switching back to English. "When a child is born, he assumes the same switch-form and at the same times as his mother. He has no overlap at all. On his thirteenth birthday, he gets a party. His switch time melds with his personality, overlap begins, and, if he is a Random, he transmutes."

  Collins put up a hand to stay Falima. "Hold it. I was with you up until the thirteenth birthday party. Randoms. Transmuting." He shook his head. "What are you talking about?"

  Falima eased to a cross-legged sitting position. She spoke painfully slowly, as if to an idiot. "At thirteen, all right?"

  Collins did not grace the question with so much as a nod. If he did, he felt certain she would drag a simple explanation into next week.

  "A child becomes a man or woman. He gets a switch time…" Falima glanced at Collins to see if he still followed her description.

  Collins bobbed his head. He knew about switch times from Zylas. "Does some person assign each teen a switching time? Or is it random?"

  Falima conversed with Ialin before answering. "Neither. It seems to have more to do with the…" She used Collins' word, "… teen's personality. It just happens, and it seems to suit the person. Overlap between human and animal form begins. Regulars tend to learn control faster than Randoms, but they also spend more time in animal form."

  Collins frowned, shaking his head. "You've lost me again." He considered the problem. "Maybe if you explain what you mean by Regulars and Randoms." He looked up at the sky. The moon had risen higher, a crescent that scarcely grazed the darkness. Stars spread across the darkness, remarkably similar to the spring pattern of his own world.

  "Regulars occur when animals of like type mate, whether in human or animal form. A man who becomes a bull, for example, marries a woman whose switch-form is a cow." Falima studied Collins' reaction, and he gave her what he hoped was an encouraging look. This made sense to him. "Since animals can only mate within their type, and they tend not to worry about or understand human conventions when it comes to marriage, Regulars outnumber Randoms by about three hundred to one."

  Collins reasoned, "So a Random would come of a union between two humans with different types of switch-forms."

  "Right." Apparently impressed by his reasoning, Falima passed it on to Ialin.

  Latin came back with something that sounded gruff, almost warning.

  Beaming, Collins struggled to continue. Falima's opinion of him mattered more than he could explain. "Until thirteen, Randoms become the animal of their mother. Then, they become…"He did not know how to proceed. Logic dictated that boys might follow the father and girls the mother, but the opposite could prove equally true. What am I doing seeking logic in magic? Sticking with what the name implied, he tried, "… something random?"

  "Exactly," Falima crowed. "Though maybe not totally random. It probably has something to do with the physical or emotional makeup of the person. Or maybe the animal-type influences those things. It would be hard to ever know for sure."

  "Which are you?"

  Falima's open excitement disappeared. Her features lapsed into a mask, and her movements looked calculatedly casual. "What?"

  "Which are you?" Collins repeated carefully. "Regular or Random?"

  "All horses are guards," Falima said in a not-quite-indifferent tone. "Senior to dogs. Ours is a respected position, nearly always bred on purpose."

  "And you?" Collins pressed.

  Falima blinked, now clearly annoyed. "You heard me. You may assume me a Regular."

  It was not a direct answer, but Collins accepted it. Though he had clearly stepped into dangerous territory, he could not keep himself from asking. "And Zylas?" He glanced toward his companion as he spoke, only to find a set of empty clothing. "He's changed!"

  "A few moments ago," Falima confirmed.

  Collins studied the britches. He rose with a caution designed not to disturb the dog, drawing nearer to where Zylas had fallen asleep until he found the rat-sized lump stirring regularly beneath linen. "Is he a Random or a Regular?"

  "Random," Falima said with a wide yawn. "Do you think we breed rats on purpose?"

  Collins thought of the lab. We do. "And Ialin?"

  This time, Falima dodged the question. "I'm getting tired.

  We really should sleep." Without awaiting a reply from Collins, she headed away to curl up on a pile of leaves. Ialin went with her.

  Put off by Falima's sudden detachment, Collins lay back down beside the dog. Its warmth soothed him, even as he worried for the propriety of his action. At least he could explain it away as a means to keep watch over an animal that might sneak off and report them to the authorities. He wondered about the information Falima had given him and why discussion of the origins of self and friends made her so uncomfortable. He vowed not to press the question the next day. To do so might lose him what little trust of hers he had managed to gain or leave him in the bleak loneliness he had dreaded only an hour ago.

  With these thoughts buzzing through his mind, it surprised Collins how swiftly he found sleep.

  Chapter 6

  BENTON Collins awakened to a sweet but unrecognizable 'aroma that sent his stomach into a ferocious growl. It reminded him of his mother's freshly baked cinnamon rolls, yet was different in a way he could not quite define. He opened his eyes
to a subdued fire surrounding a crock blackened by charcoal, Ialin and Falima spoke in hushed tones, their shadows flickering through the brush at their backs. The sun had not yet penetrated the dense cover of leaves and branches. The two chatted like old friends. Though Collins could not understand a word of it, he noticed that neither wore the tense expression of hostile distrust that had become so familiar to him.

  The dog rolled its head to look at Collins. It wagged its tail in greeting, tip stirring the leaves. Ialin and Falima took no notice, so Collins continued to study them in the scarlet-and-amber strobe of the fire. Her golden skin looked beautifully exotic. She had braided her mane of black hair away from her face, though a few strands lay damply against her cheeks. Apparently, she had washed and combed it out earlier that morning. Though lost beneath an overlarge cloak, the curves of her naked body remained vividly in Collins' memory. His mind's eyes conjured the generous breasts, the fine curves, and the well-toned body with an ease that made him flush. He felt himself responding to the image, which abruptly heightened his embarrassment. He tried to quell desire by turning his attention to his other companion.

  Ialin rose and walked to the fire, movements odd though never awkward. The words that came to Collins' mind in description: flitty, quick, birdlike fit best, though he found none of them quite adequate. The man reminded him most of Jean, who had become a dependable, almost supernaturally daring, friend over the years. Though small to the point of scrawny, she never hesitated to face off with the largest man. They had once stopped to examine a snake on the road. None of the men in the car would touch it, but Jean had picked it up without a second thought. And, upon discovering that she held a rattlesnake, she had attempted to keep it for a pet. On two occasions, he had watched women leaving a public restroom that Jean had just entered whispering angrily about the man who had dared to walk boldly into their haven.

  There was something equally androgynous about the hummingbird/man, and Collins wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that bird gender was difficult to read at a glance. Or is it? When he thought about it more carefully, he realized that in many species of birds, like peacocks, blue jays, and chickens, the male and female looked phenomenally different, far more so than, say, horses. Or rats.

  Collins shook his head, tired of trying to find rhyme and reason in a world that either had none or, at least, none that he could logically and rationally fathom without the assistance of those who lived it daily. At that moment, he found Ialin returning his gaze with steady yellow-brown eyes. The man said something to Falima, and she looked at Collins as well. For a while, they all simply stared, saying nothing. Finally, Falima's face broke into a cautious, weary half-smile. "Good, you are awake. Come join us."

  Collins gave back a genuine grin, glad Falima had actually welcomed him, though it hardly mattered. Soon enough, he would return to his own world and these people would fade into the blurred uncertainty between reality and dream. He had read enough fantasy as a child to know that others, and maybe eventually he, would dismiss whatever adventures he had in this world as the product of distraught imagination. Assuming I make it out of here alive. He stood, rearranging his jeans to cover his dwindling excitement. He could taste his morning breath but could think of no way to remedy the problem. He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging wilted petals, twigs, and curled leaves. His appearance and hygiene, he knew, should not bother him; but it did. At least I probably look better without my glasses. He squinted, surprised at how easily he found himself getting along without them. He could see better than he remembered, and it sent his mind into another round of unusual thought. Do I not need them as much as I believe? Am I simply getting used to not having them? Or is it just another part of the magic of Barakhai?

  Using a stick, Ialin eased the crock from the fire.

  The dog rolled to its feet, yawned, and stretched. Its tongue uncurled, and the mouth spread wide to reveal rows of surprisingly blunt teeth. Then, finished, it followed Collins to his companions near the fire.

  Falima glanced upward, though interwoven branches blocked the sky. "I was about to wake you. I wanted you up before my switch."

  "Your switch?" Collins rolled a panic-stricken gaze to Ialin. Please. Don't leave me alone with… him. He did not voice the concern. He had grown accustomed to Falima's animosity, had even managed to crack it somewhat. The idea of spending time with only Ialin chilled him, colored by his experiences with Jean. He liked Jean, but she also liked him. With Ialin, he could imagine that rattlesnake "accidentally" winding up in his bed. The analogy did not carry well, since any snake here would also be human and, presumably, barred by law and convention from harming others.

  "It is coming soon." Falima used an edge of her cloak to ease the crock toward her. Ialin said something to which Falima replied. This time, she deigned to translate. "He wants me to wait until it cools. But I do not get gahiri often and do not eat it in switch-form."

  "Gahiri?" Collins repeated, surprised to hear a Barakhain word during an English rendition. She had never mixed the two before. Then, he realized the word probably had no equivalent in his language.

  Using a stick, Falima ladled a gloppy brown mixture onto a leaf as dark as spinach. It steamed in her hand as she offered it to Collins.

  Collins hesitated. Then, worried it might burn her palm if she held it too long, he accepted it. It warmed his grip, its aroma a cross between pecan and currant pie, with a bit of baking potato.

  Without seeing if Collins ate it, Falima made similar packets for Ialin and herself. They ate them like tacos, one hand folding the contents together, the other perched below to catch any runoff. He took a delicate bite of just the filling. It burned his tongue, and it took an effort of will not to spit it out. Instead, he swirled it around his mouth, never letting it settle in one place long enough to singe until it grew cool enough to swallow without hurting his throat. Only then, he allowed himself to assess the flavor, sweetly spicy with a subtle crunch he hoped had nothing to do with insects. It tasted sinfully good, like doughnuts for breakfast. He blew on it carefully before daring another bite. This time, he took a chunk of leaf along with the filling; and, to his surprise, it only enhanced the flavor. "Delicious," he said around a heated mouthful.

  "The best," Falima agreed. "Most of the ingredients are quite common, but you have to get the vilegro seed at the right time.

  When you can even find it. It is valuable, too, so we can sell what we do not eat. A worthy find, Ialin had. That is the advantage of a small flying switch-form with a good sense for finding sweet things."

  Falima's description sparked an idea. "Perhaps," Collins started thoughtfully. "Perhaps Ialin could distract the guards, fly around their…"

  Before Collins could stop her, Falima translated. Ialin's reply was accompanied by a spark of anger.

  Falima laughed. "Ialin suggests we distract you instead so the guards can catch you easier."

  Collins brows rose, and the look he gave Falima was similar to Ialin's own.

  All mirth disappeared. "He was only kidding," she said defensively. She and Ialin feigned sudden, inordinate interest in their gahiri.

  Collins reached for his own half-eaten breakfast, only to find a large white rat devouring it. Startled, he skittered backward, then realized who had stolen his food. "Zylas!"

  Falima laughed again, and even Ialin could not suppress a snicker. Zylas turned Collins as innocent a look as a rat could muster, then returned to eating.

  Falima made three more gahiri, handing one to each of her human companions and eating the third. Abandoning his booty, Zylas crawled up Falima's arm to her shoulder, placed both paws on her ear, and squeaked emphatically.

  Falima listened for a long time, nodding occasionally with her mouth full of food. She replied in their regular language, stuffed the rest of the gahiri into her mouth, then rose. Placing her hand inside her bodice, she plucked a cherry-sized piece of rose quartz from between her breasts and thrust it toward Zylas. The rat took the stone
between his teeth, skittered from his perch, and dropped it on the ground near his food. Placing one paw on the rock, he commenced eating.

  Collins looked at Falima. "What was that about?"

  In response, Falima only shrugged.

  "She can't understand you." Zylas' squeaks now formed high-pitched English words. "She passed the translation stone, and now I have it."

  Knowing Falima had swallowed the stone, Collins did not want "pass" defined. "And you understand me?"

  "Yes. But the others do not."

  Torn between relief that he would not have to make conversation with two people who disliked him and worry that he might have to find other ways to make himself understood, Collins nodded his comprehension. If he could only communicate with one of his companions, he preferred it to be Zylas, even if he was a rat.

  Collins glanced at his watch. It read a few minutes till six a.m. "So, what do we do now?"

  Falima rose, brushed crumbs from her shift and cloak, and spoke a few words to Ialin, who nodded. She headed into the woods. The dog trotted after her, tail waving like a flag. With a few crisp words and a jab toward the men, she ordered it back. It obeyed, tail low, only the tip still twitching.

  "Come here, boy!" Collins used a happy tone, and the dog bounded to him, tail again whipping broadly. He petted it, and it wiggled and circled in excitement. Zylas grabbed up the translation stone in his teeth and scuttled out of the way of the prancing paws. "Falima is switching?" Collins guessed.

  Zylas' reply was barely audible. "Yeth." He dodged between the dog's feet to reach Collins and started clawing his way up Collins' jeans. The denim bunched under his claws and weight, dragging them down.

  Worried Zylas might pants him, Collins bent, offering a hand to the rat. "Where are you trying to go?"

  " 'our thoulder, ith 'ou peathe."

  Thinking he understood, Collins hoisted Zylas to his left shoulder.

  The rat scrabbled off, settling into the hollow between Collins' neck and shoulder. He spat out the stone and clapped it in place with a paw. "Can you hear me better now?"