One Realm Beyond

by Donita K. Paul

  Pushing the farmers and their problems aside, Dukmee focused his attention in the other direction. His perceptive skill slid through the sewage tunnel where fluid sludged in a canal down the center.

  Dukmee slowed his breathing. In his mind, he saw a crude map of the barracks based on his visits to render medical assistance to the occupants. His senses gathered information, and colored dots appeared where people occupied small spaces.

  “We’re blessed tonight, gentlemen.” He spoke in hushed tones but allowed the smile on his lips to lighten his words. “The soldiers worked hard today and filled their bellies with heavy food. Most of them are sleeping, and those at their posts are nodding, not fully alert.”

  Lem breathed a sigh of relief. “Primen is with us. He has drugged those who would stop us from freeing the young men.”

  Dukmee didn’t comment. Too many things could go wrong during this mission. “Remember my signals. We’ll not speak once inside the barracks.”

  He turned to face the men and displayed the short carved rod. He held the baton in front of the farmers. They could see only the two ends as they extended from the invisible glove that covered his hand.

  “When the rod is perpendicular from the ground, stop.” He turned his wrist. “If it’s horizontal, take cover.” He rotated the tip of the baton in a wide, slow circle. “Come, cautiously.”

  Both men nodded with each new position of the stick in his demonstration.

  Dukmee placed the rod in an upright status again and twirled it with speed. “Come, hurry, no need to hide.”

  And last, he jerked the baton in a motion that clearly meant go that way, go fast.

  “That’s it,” said Dukmee. “I’ll be a few yards ahead of you so I can spot danger before you come into sight. Remember, we knock them out. We’re not here to kill anyone, even soldiers.”

  Could he trust them? Father and uncle had reason to be brutal if a guard got in their way of rescuing Arend and the others. He read the aura around each man. Serious, determined, but no red-hot anger, no revenge. He hoped no wild emotion would surge to the surface if their plans met resistance.

  “We’re ready,” said Ruese.

  “Let’s go get my boy,” said Lem.

  Dukmee believed they were as ready as he could make them. He’d trust Primen to supply the rest.

  The sewer tunnel reeked, but Dukmee had practice at blocking unpleasant odors. He couldn’t help the farmers, though. He traveled quickly, hoping to avoid his accomplices being overcome with nausea. They trotted behind him. Deciding that farmers who mucked out stalls had sturdy stomachs, he quit monitoring their physical state.

  It was time to narrow his focus. At present, his mind followed the placement of each live being in the barracks. Surmising that three were canines, he sent a compulsion to sleep to their minds and dropped them from his running tab.

  He knew when Bixby and Cantor entered the front gate, but he couldn’t find the dragon. He narrowed his focus to pick up just the dragon. Then he scoped for any dragon-like being. Nothing.

  With a sigh, Dukmee went back to his more general reckoning of the opposition within the barracks. Soon he would be close enough to the intriguing girl to hand off some of the mental work. He assumed she could handle the constant input of information. A suspicion that they shared a heritage grew with each observation of Bixby. Whether she understood her standing or not, he couldn’t say.

  Bixby’s voice entered his thoughts. “Bridger’s unconscious.”

  “Have you engaged the enemy?” Before he could form another question, images of the dragon sniffing the bottle containing his sleeping potion spun in his mind. The dragon hit the ground.

  “So that explains why I haven’t been able to locate Bridger; the dragon sleeps in an unnatural stupor, beyond my ken.

  “That’s right.” Bixby sounded slightly apologetic. “We’ll have to carry him after the rescue.”

  Dukmee sighed. “Quite all right. We’ll manage.”

  Was everyone on this mission inadequate? Thankful that Cantor and Bixby followed orders competently, Dukmee instructed Bixby how to reach the prisoner lockup within the barracks. Staying alert to the undercurrent of many minds, he led the farmers through the shoddy wooden maze behind the stone walls that fronted the building. Each time they approached a guard, Dukmee sent a calming wave of thought and put the man into a deep sleep.

  A disturbance within the chamber where the captured young men were kept interrupted Dukmee’s carefully monitored assessment of their progress. On his signal, the brothers stopped. He groaned as he realized the full implication of the frantic energy farther down the passage.

  Of course, the prisoners had not been fed a heavy meal. They were anxious about the morning, when they would be taken to some unknown destination and turned into emotionless guards. Instead of sleeping, they had plotted an escape.

  Dukmee attempted to communicate with them all, a mass message, as he couldn’t allow them to run loose in the barracks. His thoughts practically bounced off the turmoil of their minds. He read panic and frenzy. He tried a single word command. “Stay.” No use.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Lem.

  “The young men are escaping.”

  Ruese chuckled. “What’s wrong with that? Isn’t that just what we were planning to do this night?”

  Dukmee sighed, loudly enough that both men realized something was very wrong.

  “They’re breaking out, planning to fight all the way to the gate. That will get men hurt, both the soldiers and your boys. They have the determination to get out.” He blew out an exasperated sigh. “But they’ve made no plans as to where to go, where to hide, and have no idea of how to get food or how far they must flee to be safe.” Dukmee waved his baton. “Hurry. We must get to them before they get out of the prison area.”

  He ran, leading Lem and Ruese by the shortest route. He liked subtlety, and this race to the rescue had not an ounce of discretion. If he had time, he could muffle the clomping of their heavy boots. If Bixby had worked with him for more than a few hours, she could be relied on to step in and follow his hasty directives.

  And Cantor? Well, Cantor seemed a ready young lad.

  Cantor breathed as he did when he went hunting, a quiet, slow, shallow rhythm. The passages of the barracks opened to the star-filled sky, and the dirt alleyways felt like forest paths. But there the likeness ended. To either side, rough wooden structures rose with a stark ugliness unlike anything Cantor had found in the forest back home.

  With his breathing hushed, he could hear Bixby, her soft breath and the slight swish of cloth against cloth as she moved. He heard her heartbeat, slow and steady. That surprised him. He’d only heard an animal’s heart when the creature was scared or had been running to escape danger.

  The light fragrance of some flower tickled his nose. Lavender? No, honeysuckle. The scent had surrounded them earlier in the day when they sat in the ladder elms. He’d noticed the vine wrapped around the tree where he’d first seen her, camouflaged by her unusual apparel. Now she wore an invisible cloak and gloves, but he knew where she was by two senses other than his sight. And another sense, not one of the five. He’d have to explore this awareness. Was it an awakening power or just something special between him and another realm walker?

  Waiting did not appeal to him. Words to encourage Bixby to move toward the trapped men formed on his tongue.

  She slowed to a halt in front of him. Her hand touched his arm, her fingertips lightly rubbing his shirt sleeve. “We must go now, and hurry. The captives are about to make a horrible mistake and mess up our plan to rescue them.”

  Cantor leaned toward her to whisper. “How?”

  “They plan to break out.”

  He nodded. “Away from the portal they can’t see.”

  “If they’d just wait two more minutes — ” Bixby tugged on his arm. “Let’s go. Dukmee says to hurry.”

  When Dukmee raised the alarm, this time speaking directly to both their minds, he
told the two to make haste. Both responded with speed and no silly questions. That one factor might be the saving of this mission turned fiasco. Silly speech reminded him of another of this party of rebels. He made a note to remember to bring along the drugged dragon.

  A guard dog staggered to his feet, his sense of duty clawing its way through Dukmee’s mental influence. The beast growled low in its throat, but before he could bark the alarm, the healer waved his hand, and the dog sank to the floor, duty forgotten once again.

  No sooner had the dog succumbed than another hindrance approached. Dukmee latched on to his last ounce of patience and concentrated on picking up clues from this new problem.

  Two men sauntered down a hall, having left a card game. They’d had a bit to drink and still managed to win. How to send them off in another direction so he and his companions were not delayed? Dukmee rolled his eyes at the inanity of the ploy he was about to implement, then he telegraphed a suggestion.

  “I left my pouch,” said one of the men.

  “You weren’t carrying one.”

  “I was! The gray one with the squirrel figured on it with black thread.”

  “Well, go back and get it.”

  “Our winnings were in that bag. You come with me. I bet Hankerton hid it and plans to keep our money.”

  “It was mostly his money to begin with.”

  “It’s our money now. Come on.”

  The two men turned to retrace their steps.

  Dukmee twisted the rod in his hand, beckoning Lem and Ruese to follow.

  FRESH AIR, BUT WHERE?

  The two groups of rescuers converged at the head of the alley leading to the prison. In his state of heightened alertness, Cantor had no trouble pinpointing the position of the healer even with the man still invisible.

  Dukmee gave a command, and he and Bixby shed their cloaks.

  The healer put his hands on Bixby’s shoulders. He drew her nearer so her nose was almost touching his waistcoat. “Have you studied sound barriers?”

  She nodded.

  “We’re going to put up a temporary shield between the barracks and the castle proper. Just follow my lead.”

  To Cantor, the two looked like they stood still, closed their eyes, and did nothing. Nothing at all. He didn’t like Dukmee’s assumption that he could order Bixby around. And was it really necessary to stand so close to perform this sound barrier manipulation? Dukmee took his hands off her shoulders. They sighed in unison and stepped apart.

  The healer signaled to the others to come closer. He arranged the group as he wanted, taking point for himself. Bixby and Cantor stood behind and away from his shoulders. Farmers Lem and Ruese stood behind them and out. They made a V, and Bixby whispered to Cantor, “It’s the V of Force.”

  He clenched his jaw and controlled the volume of his answer. “I know. The farmers are just for show. It’s the three in front who do the work.”

  “Ever been in one?”

  Cantor observed her excited smile and the tremor that vibrated her many layers of lace and thin materials. He hated admitting his inexperience. “No.”

  Her eyebrows shot up and she grinned. “Neither have I.”

  He relaxed. She put out her hand, and he took it to shake.

  Her face became solemn. “May Primen be with us.”

  “Indeed.”

  Ahead of them, Dukmee stiffened. “Oh, conflagragations!”

  The double doors at the end of the path banged open, splintered wood flying in all directions. Determined young men poured out, rushing toward the small group of rescuers. With fists raised, they looked as if they would pummel their way through the flimsy barricade of three young scholars and two old men.

  The farmers hollered, “Arend!”

  As one, Dukmee, Bixby, and Cantor raised their hands, palms up. The rushing men ran into some invisible wall and fell back against those still coming.

  One fallen boy struggled against the crowd to gain his footing. “What’s going on? These aren’t guards.”

  A burly lad yelled, “Look! Two of them have no hands.”

  Cantor’s attention flickered from the concentration needed to hold the barrier together. He heard both Bixby and Dukmee grunt with the strain, but he couldn’t help cringing at the rather sickening sight of arms with no hands in front of his partners.

  The scene on the other side of the division erupted into chaos. Some men caught the ones who’d been stunned by their encounter with the invisible wall. A few pushed forward, resolute in their desire to gain freedom. And some turned back as if to seek another way out.

  Regaining his focus, Cantor felt his limited ability for combining his strength with others swell. Being part of the V of Force proved he could blend with the others’ more extensive power. He felt a quiver of pride over the accomplishment.

  Dukmee’s strength surged into Cantor and Bixby, and Cantor realized that as their power wove together, the energy increased. Individually as well as corporally. Like the old saying, “A three-strand rope will not break.” At this point, he felt confident the might of their dominance would hold against the onslaught of many more than these two dozen men.

  Dukmee’s next command came in the form of a picture. Step by step, the three walked forward, pushing the barrier and the men behind it. The prisoners returned to the large holding cell with a mixture of protests and curses.

  The rescuers followed them through the demolished doors. Dukmee lowered his elbows to his sides but kept his palms facing the desperate men. “Lem and Ruese, close what’s left of those doors as best you can. Bixby, help me do some damage control. I’ll check the castle. You search the nearby barracks.”

  Cantor looked from Dukmee to Bixby in time to see her nod and squeeze her eyes shut. What damage control? The question died on his lips as a voice rang out. “Pader? Uncle Ruese?”

  Lem pushed between Bixby and Dukmee. “Arend?”

  Father and son met at the invisible barrier. “This is my pader,” Arend shouted above the clamor. “He’s come to save us.”

  The restless young men calmed. With their eyes pinned on Lem, they waited for some pronouncement.

  Dukmee cleared his throat. “Our escape route is a portal, and it’s in this room. Stay calm, and we will lower the wall we’ve used to contain you.”

  The men glanced around the cell. Their expressions ranged from suspicious to terrified. A boy at the back asked, “How do we know we can trust you?”

  Arend had his arms around his father, and they slapped each other on the back as they embraced.

  “They are with my pader,” said Arend. “Of course we can trust them.”

  The tallest young man in the crowd stepped forward. “Portals are witchery, and everyone knows Primen hates witchery. These people are evil. They don’t even have hands like normal citizens.”

  Ruese scratched his head. “They did at mealtime.”

  Dukmee and Bixby looked down at their stubby arms, and Bixby grinned sheepishly. She tossed Dukmee a look, but his expression was inscrutable. The two peeled off their gloves.

  “Invisibility.” The tall man humphed. “More witchery.”

  Arend rolled his eyes. “That’s Pedran. Pay him no mind. He’s the only one of us that’s ever studied the Primen Guide. He tries to make us believe he’s the authority on everything to do with Primen.”

  Dukmee didn’t pay any attention to the men, now that he seemed intent on finding the portal. He walked to the side of the room where one small window next to the ceiling let in a trickle of fresh air.

  The healer motioned for Cantor and Bixby to join him. “Here, I think. I’ll need your help to open the portal.”

  Cantor tried to protest. He’d never summoned a portal, only gone through ones that opened on their own. Before he got the words out, Dukmee reassured him, “It’s simple.”

  The image formed in Cantor’s mind of his two hands reaching forward and stretching a small hole into a much larger one. Before him, the portal formed just from his thou
ghts linked with Dukmee’s and Bixby’s thoughts.

  Cantor was thrilled by the flow of power rushing through his body from his toes to his fingertips. He glanced at Bixby to see if she felt the same surge of excitement. She not only looked happy, but there was something else in her expression. She nodded her head and looked as if “I told you so” was on the tip of her tongue. Now what thought gave her that expression?

  Dukmee smiled and turned to the anxious men. “We’re ready to go.”

  “Where?” asked Lem.

  “There’s a portal here. We need only step through.”

  Ruese rubbed the back of his neck as he slowly shook his head. “I don’t see anything.”

  “We’ll demonstrate.” Dukmee held out his hand, and Bixby took it.

  The healer walked a few steps with the lace-bedecked girl following. They both disappeared. Moments later, Dukmee re-entered the room with Bixby trailing him.

  “Easy.” Dukmee dropped Bixby’s hand and took Arend’s. He addressed the group. “You must touch the person in front of you in order to follow him through. I suggest we get on with it. A few of the guards are awake enough to figure out something is happening.” He spared a glance for his partners in this mission. “Bixby, Cantor, hold this open until we’re all on the other side. It will get more difficult as I move farther away from the portal.”

  Cantor looked at Bixby with one eyebrow cocked. She smiled and nodded. “We can do it.”

  As Dukmee started to walk, Arend took hold of his father’s arm. Ruese latched onto his brother, and another of the young men grabbed Ruese’s shoulder. Each man in turn disappeared at the exact same spot as the line moved forward.

  Toward the end, one nervous boy thought to ask, “Where are we going?”

  Cantor answered, “Derson.” A sudden image in his mind of two spoons colliding over Ahma’s table flashed through his mind. Was Derson the best place to send these fugitives?

  “Derson! Another plane?”

  The boy’s astonished face looked comical to Cantor, but Bixby showed compassion for his dismay. “You’ll be safe there from the king’s demand that you serve him and him alone.”