“You do?”
“I do.”
“Thank you.”
Collins’ grin slipped. “No need for thanks. I was simply describing what I see.”
“But your words make me feel good.”
“I’m glad.”
They smiled at one another, and joy suffused Collins. His heart skipped, then quickened. Excitement tingled through his chest in a way he could not recall since his first crush on Betty Lou Finnegan in junior high and, prior to that, not since childhood.
Korfius yipped, breaking the mood. His legs twitched rhythmically, kicking Collins’ shin.
Collins slid his feet free, rolling the dog onto his back. Korfius awakened briefly, whacked his tail on the boards, and resumed snoring.
Collins hated to even raise the issue when things were going better than he could ever have imagined, but it needed saying. “About Joetha.” An image of his own grandmother came to his mind: her gray-and-white hair falling in curls to just above her shoulders, her small stout form smelling of peppers and cookies, the welcoming smile she had always given him, surrounded by the familiar wrinkles that had come to define unconditional love. She had died two years ago, of natural causes, and he missed her. He forced himself to contemplate some savage serial murderer stabbing her to death, cannibalizing the body. The picture proved too much. Horror dragged through him like a hot knife, and he dropped his head, sobbing, into his hands.
Collins did not hear Falima move, but her warm body enfolded him and her hands stroked his hair like a child’s. She rocked him gently as he wept, his tears plastering the rude fabric of her dress against her solid curves. “I’m sorry,” he gasped out. “I’m sorry.” He wanted to say more, but grief would not allow it. I killed someone’s mother, someone’s grandmother. I killed her, and I callously ate her.
Collins did not know how long he cried into Falima’s arms. But, when he finally regained control, his face bore the indentations of every thick fiber. She looked as if she had spilled a glass of water down her bodice, rumpled and pinch-faced.
“It’s all right,” she finally said.
“It’s not.” Collins shook his head. “It never will be.”
Falima could not deny those words. Collins would have to learn to live with the guilt or go insane.
“A bad thing happened.” Falima lowered herself to her haunches. “But the cause was mistake, not malice. Zylas has forgiven you, and so have I. At some point, you have to forgive yourself.”
“Joetha’s family—”
“—can never forgive you, of course.” Falima asked cautiously, “Can you live with that?”
Collins had been about to say “—will suffer,” so Falima’s question caught him off-guard. He considered. “Yes,” he realized to his own surprise. “I can.”
Falima rose and returned to her chair. “Then it’s settled. We don’t need to speak of this again.”
Collins liked the way she had phrased it, assuaging his shame but leaving the subject open if he ever felt the emotional need to talk about it. It was a talent he had not known she possessed, and it only made her more desirable.
Collins awakened with a start that left him disoriented to place and time, yet burdened with a decisive thought that usurped all other need for understanding. My friends: Zylas, Falima, Vernon, even Ialin, are good people, better than I could ever be. He tried to imagine himself risking his life and freedom for a murderer on death row, but the image refused to form. He would not do so, even if he knew the man innocent, let alone guilty only from ignorance. He would, of course, come forward to testify; but he would not hazard electrocution by cutting power lines to the electric chair.
Collins opened his eyes. He lay on the pallet in Vernon’s cottage, straw poking him through the threadbare blanket, a bundled tunic serving as a makeshift pillow. Falima curled on the floor, snagging the four hours of sleep she required in human form. He would have preferred to give her the more comfortable sleeping place, but maintaining the illusion of his royalty took precedence until they left Korfius in Vernon’s care. He saw no sign of Korfius or their host.
As Collins rolled to his right side to face the wall, he found his feet pinned in place. He jerked at the covers, dislodging the dog, who groaned and clambered from the pallet. Freed, Collins finished his intended movement and snuggled back into the straw. He could understand Zylas’ assistance. The rat/man might feel responsible for leading Collins into Barakhai and, therefore, the subsequent crime. Vernon clearly made a career out of helping the needy, so perhaps he got some personal satisfaction from hiding Collins. Falima’s and Ialin’s motivations escaped him completely. No wonder they’re hostile. Zylas must have talked them into it, perhaps against their better judgment.
Knowing he needed his sleep, Collins forced these thoughts from his mind. He could speculate about their motivations all day and never come near the truth. It was an exercise in futility that he could better solve by simply asking. Hard enough understanding people of my own world. Collins pushed his mind to less intrusive thoughts and, eventually, found sleep again.
The next time Benton Collins awakened, he heard low voices. He sat up, the blanket tumbling to his ankles. Zylas leaned across the table, talking softly to Vernon. They made an odd pair, one slight and white as cream, the other powerfully muscled and dark as untouched coffee. Though taught to revile eavesdropping, he strained to overhear. His companions had left him out of conversations about his own welfare so many times that he somehow felt owed the knowledge.
Korfius floundered from beneath the blanket that now covered his head. He flopped to the floor, the cloth fumbling after him in an awkward twist.
The men at the table looked toward them. Zylas said something louder, accompanied by a friendly wave.
Only then, Collins realized his moments of straining could have gained him nothing. Without touching the stone, he could not understand a word of the Barakhain they exchanged. He thrust his hand into the pocket that held the rose quartz, withdrawing it. “You’re back,” he finally said.
“I am,” Zylas admitted. His gaze wandered to the translation stone, and his grin widened. “Thanks for taking such good care of my rock.”
Collins returned the grin. “It was nothing,” he said honestly. “I really appreciate your leaving it. I couldn’t have done anything without it.”
Zylas nodded. Collins certainly did not have to explain the merits of the magic to its longtime owner.
“So,” Collins pressed for the important news immediately. “Is there another portal?”
Zylas glanced at Vernon, who shrugged, then gave his head a slight shake. The rat/man’s attention returned to Collins. “Not . . . yet. But . . .”
Collins waited for his companion to continue. When he did not, Collins made an impatient gesture. “But . . . ?”
Zylas pursed his lips, then spoke quickly, as if he had to force the words out before he changed his mind. “The elder wishes to meet with you.”
Uncertain how to react, Collins asked cautiously, “He does? Why?”
Zylas opened his mouth, then closed it without speaking. He gave Vernon another meaningful look, but the black man turned away, arms folded across his chest. Clearly on his own now, Zylas said lamely,
“It’s not a simple matter. The elder . . . can explain it better.”
“All . . . right.” Collins looked from companion to companion, but neither returned his stare. “What do I need to know before I agree to this?”
Silence.
Irritated with his companions’ behavior, Collins demanded, “You said my going would be dangerous to the elder and to myself. Don’t I have a right to know why before I’m smack dab in the middle of that danger?”
Vernon said gruffly, “It’s not you we’re worried about.”
Zylas placed a hand on Vernon’s shoulder, an obvious plea to let him handle it. “It’ll become clear, but Vernon’s right. So long as you don’t do anything foolish or mean . . .”
Like e
at some innocent woman? Collins thought bitterly.
“ . . . you’re perfectly safe. The elder . . .” Zylas flicked strands of dirty white-blond hair from his eyes. “. . . has more at stake. We just want to protect—”
Vernon jumped in again. “—the elder.”
“Right,” Zylas confirmed.
Korfius thrust his nose into Collins’ hand. He patted the dog absently, still focused on his oddly behaving friends. “I’m not going to hurt anyone, if that’s what you’re jazzed up about.” Collins wondered how that translated, but Zylas and Vernon showed no sign of confusion. “I didn’t mean to kill Joetha,” he said for what seemed like the thousandth time. “It was an awful thing for which I’ll feel eternally guilty, but can’t we ever—”
Zylas and Vernon made broad motions to silence Collins. “We know that,” the albino assured. “We don’t have to talk about that anymore.”
Vernon stood, nostrils flaring in clear distress. “It’s just that you come with . . . certain dangers.”
Understanding dawned, dispelling the irritation. “You mean the guards chasing me.”
Zylas vigorously nodded confirmation, but Vernon did not let the matter drop. “We don’t know you well enough to be sure—”
“Vernon,” Zylas warned, but it did not stop his friend.
“—you can keep your mouth shut.”
Collins felt the prickle of returning irritation but forced it away. Vernon had a reasonable point. “I owe you all my life at least two times over. I’m not going to give away any secret.”
Zylas rolled his gaze to Vernon, who did not seem satisfied. “Can you bind that as a vow?”
Collins blinked, tightening his grip on the translation stone, which didn’t seem to be fully functioning. “What?”
Vernon rephrased his question. “Do you have some sanctified words, some gesture, that binds important promises beyond breaking?”
Now Collins understood. Nothing in my world is so sacred someone can’t and won’t abandon it. That answer, he knew, would not satisfy Vernon. He would not break his word because he considered himself an honorable and moral person. Nevertheless, a white lie seemed worth it to appease Vernon. “We have both.” He cleared his throat, assuming the most serious expression he could. “I swear to God . . .” It did not sound like enough, so he added, “with sugar on top, that I will . . .” He looked at Vernon questioningly.
Catching the intention of the pause, Vernon supplied the next words, “. . . not divulge the name, location, or even the existence of the elder to anyone ever, no matter what good reason I think I may have for doing so.”
“Uh.” Collins had no trouble agreeing to the terms, but he could not recall all the words Vernon had used. “I will not . . . uh . . . divulge . . . uh . . . the elder forever no matter what.” Mouthful of mostly long words to express the obvious. He’d have made a good lawyer. Collins spit on his right hand. “Now we shake on it.”
“Shake on . . . it?” Vernon studied Collins’ fingers dubiously.
Collins took Vernon’s enormous paw of a hand into his own, flicked it vigorously, then released it. He wiped his palm on his britches, and Vernon did the same.
“Done?” the larger man asked.
“Done,” Collins agreed.
Vernon muttered something of which the stone translated only, “Weird.”
Unable to miss the irony, Collins hid a smile.
Chapter 10
Zylas and Collins set off immediately, with the sun still high in the sky. They rode Falima, and Collins caught occasional glimpses of Ialin zipping to Zylas and hovering near his ear. The hummingbird always gave Collins a wide berth, which pleased him as well. The wind carried streamers of Zylas’ unnaturally white hair into Collins’ face at intervals so irregular he forgot to protect against it. Accustomed to wearing glasses, he rarely reacted in time to rescue his eyes, and the strands whipped across them, stinging, until he wondered if he had permanent red lines across the whites. Adding a buzzing, insectlike bird to the aggravation might have driven him over the edge, from sullen irritation to rage.
Zylas carried the translation stone again, which seemed to make no difference as his other two companions would remain in their animal forms for about five more hours and the rat/man had settled into a nearly unbreakable silence. He led them on a circuitous route that confused Collins utterly. At times, he thought he recognized landmarks they had passed a half hour earlier. They might be traveling in an endless loop for all he knew, and he could not help recalling the Winnie-the-Pooh tale in which the silly old bear and his friend, Piglet, track themselves in a circle, worried that, at each pass, another two creatures have joined the ones they were following. Despite the warmth and humor of this childhood remembrance, Collins found his discomfort growing.
The weather seemed hell-bent on displaying all the happy grandeur Collins’ mood lacked. The sun beamed through the trees in golden bands. A breeze danced around the trunks, keeping the temperature hovering at what felt like a comfortable seventy degrees. Crystal-blue sky stretched from horizon to horizon, dotted with a few fluffy clouds that gleamed whitely in the broad expanse of azure.
The ground grew rockier. Falima stumbled. Abruptly jarred sideways, Collins found himself on the ground before he realized he was falling. Pain shot through his left shoulder. Dull aching pounded through his thighs and buttocks, a reminder that he had spent more time riding the last two days than in all the rest of his life combined. He looked up to a hovering hummingbird and a still-mounted Zylas peering down at him, arm extended. “Are you all right?”
“Just fricking fine.” Collins had no idea whether the almost-swear word would translate as the real thing or into a somewhat-acceptable substitution like the one he had provided. He clambered painfully to his feet, ignoring Zylas’ gesture. “Mind if I just walk for a while?”
“Not at all.” Zylas peered into the distance. “In fact, we’ll take to the mountains soon. Probably better if we all walk.”
Ialin disappeared.
Collins massaged his aching shoulder.
“Only kept us mounted this far to make as small a scent trail as possible. Ialin’s seen guards out there, though they don’t seem to have located us.”
“What about Vernon and Korfius?” Collins asked, worried.
Zylas dismounted, clutching Falima’s lead. “No reason to think they’re not safe. They’ve got their stories, and we just have to hope no one convinces Korfius to rat us out.”
Collins laughed at the play on words, which seemed to baffle Zylas.
“What’s funny?”
Collins saw no harm in explaining, this time. “Rat us out. You’re a rat.”
Zylas continued to stare.
“Just seemed funny,” Collins mumbled, withdrawing back toward his irritability.
“Is that how it translates?”
“Yeah.”
Now, Zylas chuckled. “It’s not the word I used. We don’t have a lot of animal-based slang.”
Collins nodded. “Makes sense.”
“Ready to continue?”
No, Collins thought but said, “Yes.”
They headed into rocky hills that soon became forested mountains. The trail continued to spiral, double back, and loop. For a time, Collins tried to trace the route. When that became impossible, he attempted conversation. “So now will you tell me about this elder?”
Zylas looked up with clear reluctance. “You’ll meet soon enough.”
Foiled again, Collins bit his lower lip. “How soon is soon enough?”
“Tomorrow evening.”
“Tomorrow!” Collins complained, recalling that Zylas and Ialin had made the trip and returned in about twenty-four hours.
Zylas’ eyes widened. “Did you want to take longer?”
“Shorter.”
“We could arrive a little earlier,” Zylas said slowly. “If you won’t be uncomfortable with Falima and Ialin in switch-form.”
Collins considered. He might perfo
rm better with Falima communicative. She seemed to have warmed up to him in Vernon’s cabin. Ialin, he thought, might do him better as a speechless bird. “Perhaps somewhere between the two?”
Zylas tossed his tangled hair. “Of course, there’s the elder’s switch time to consider, too.” He rubbed his forehead. “While you sleep, I’ll meet with the elder and talk about that.”
Surprised to have his opinion considered at all, Collins merely said, “All right.” He had not thought about the details such coordination might require, but he should have. He had learned enough under dire enough circumstances. I should be thinking all the time. It bothered him to consider that he was, perhaps, not as smart as he believed. He had always done well in school, earning A’s and B’s with relative ease and not just in rote subjects. Yet he worried that his ability to anticipate and react to life situations might not prove as competent. What happens when I get out in the real world where life doesn’t consist solely of classes and tests? The thought now seemed ludicrous. Assuming I survive Barakhai and ever make it back to the “real” world.
Zylas led Falima up the slope. “Speaking of sleep, we work best when we get half in each form. Thought we could take a break: eat, nap.”
Though Collins had slept a solid eight hours, he suffered from hunger, thirst, and physical exhaustion. He supposed he could learn to coordinate his sleep with Zylas’, in three-or four-hour blocks rather than all at once. “Sounds good to me.”
Despite his suggestion, Zylas continued hauling Falima up the mountainside. “There’s a cave not too far. I’d rather hole up on higher ground. Safer.”
Collins followed, now aware of his growling tummy, his dry mouth, and the soreness of his legs. He wished Zylas had waited until they’d arrived at the cave to mention food and rest.
Half an hour later, Zylas waved Collins into the rock crevice he had referred to as a cave. A curtain of vines hung over the entrance, swarmed with round pink flowers; and grass softened the floor. Collins touched a wall slimy with algae and moss and immediately jerked back his hand. Warm and moist, the interior seemed stifling after the dry, cool wind that had accompanied them through the day. Falima remained outside, grazing, but Ialin swept onto a ledge and perched. Zylas went outside nearly as soon as he entered, then returned moments later dragging the pack that had rested on Falima’s withers. As Collins hurried over to help, Zylas let it flop onto the floor.
The Beasts of Barakhai Page 14