Falima grazed outside throughout the lesson. At nine, Ialin returned to bird form, and Collins heaved a grateful sigh. Anticipating three hours of blessed relief and silence, he drew the travel pack to him in search of breakfast. Crouched in front of one of the chests, he placed each item on its lid: first a hunk of brown bread, the jar of nut paste, and a wrinkled applelike fruit. He rummaged for a stick to spread the paste, wishing he had his multitool. It had served him well in many unexpected situations, from using the pliers to straighten a damaged cage clasp to cutting open the otherwise impenetrable plastic packaging that entombed so many small electronics.
Collins discarded the thought of using his companions’ utility knives on food. No telling what’s on those blades. Instead, he went to the cave mouth to find a suitable stick.
At Collins’ sudden appearance, Falima raised her head and nickered. Remembering an earlier conversation, he strode over and scratched her between the ears. She closed her eyes and lowered her head, half-chewed stems jutting from her mouth. The sun beamed down from a cloudless sky, igniting red highlights in her tangled black forelock. Collins finger-combed it back in place with one hand, while the other continued to scratch.
Collins’ stomach rumbled, and he abandoned his ministrations with a final pat. “Pretty girl,” he cooed, feeling like an idiot and wondering how much of the encounter Falima would remember in human form. Locating a thick twig near his feet, he picked it up and returned to the cave.
Prinivere lumbered outside. Collins froze, fear twitching through him despite his knowledge and his efforts to keep the emotion at bay. He stepped aside, shoving his shaking hands into his pockets to hide them. The stick jabbed his thigh through the fabric, and he loosed a grunt of pain.
*I’m going to find food,* Prinivere announced, though whether at him or everyone, Collins could not tell. *Be back by the time Zylas changes.*
Collins nodded his reply, though the dragon had already swept past him. He had no idea what something so large might eat in the vegetable family to sustain herself. Though some of the largest dinosaurs had been herbivores, the paleontologists surmised that they had had to eat constantly to keep themselves alive. So far, he had not seen the dragon consume anything.
Carrying his spreading stick, Collins returned to his food, only to find Zylas nibbling at the bread. He stopped short. “You know, in my world, finding a rat eating your food might just be the grossest thing imaginable.”
“Great,” Zylas squeaked, his paw on the translation stone and his mouth leaking crumbs. “More for me.”
“Ah,” Collins reached for the nut paste. “But I’m a biology student. I could eat a block of Swiss in a pathology laboratory over the smell of formaldehyde while mice used the holes for a maze.” The medical student from whom he had stolen the quote had added a nearby dissected cadaver and that, if hungry enough, he would devour the animals with the cheese. Under the circumstances, Collins felt it best to leave those parts out.
Despite his bold words, Collins got himself a fresh piece of bread on which to spread the paste. He doubted Zylas could carry any of the rat-borne illnesses of his world without infecting himself in human form, but he saw no need to take chances. “So what, exactly, does a dragon eat?”
Zylas finished a mouthful of bread. “A whole lot.” “No doubt.” Collins dipped the stick into the jar and slapped a glob onto his bread. “A whole lot of what?”
“People,” Zylas said without hesitation.
Collins jerked his attention to the rat, hand still on the bread. “What?”
“I’m kidding,” Zylas said. “Of course, she eats the same things everyone else eats. Plants, fish, bugs.”
“Oh.” Collins swallowed hard. “That’s not funny.”
“Sorry.”
“In fact, it was downright insensitive.”
“I’m sorry,” Zylas repeated. “I have near perfect overlap. Apparently, my rat sense of humor isn’t as careful as my man sense of humor.”
The guilt of his crime revived, Collins discovered a lump in his throat that made eating a chore. He pulled a bladder from the pack and sucked a mouthful of a sweet-and-sour fruit juice that contained a hint of alcohol. Expecting water, he nearly choked on the contents. “What the hell is this?”
Zylas jumped from the chest to Collins’ lap, then skittered up his arm. He stuck his entire, furry head through the opening, then retreated with golden droplets clinging to his whiskers. He returned to his place, and the translating stone, before speaking. “It’s a mix, one of Vernon’s special recipes. Don’t you like it?”
Collins had not given a thought to his opinion of the unexpected taste. Now, he considered, savoring the aftertaste on his tongue. If he had to guess the ingredients, he would have said grape juice, apple juice, some lemon, a dash of something exotic, like guava or mango, and a touch of dry wine. “Actually, I do. I just wasn’t expecting it.” He turned his thoughts back to Prinivere. “She’d have to eat an ocean of fish, I’d guess.”
Zylas bobbed his head, splashing the golden droplets. “She usually does most of her eating in her human form, but I’d guess she had to ‘refuel’ from the spell.”
Refuel. Collins liked the translation, though it could not have been the actual word Zylas had used. His respect for magic grew tenfold in an instant.
“Are you ready to learn the interior of the keep?” Collins groaned. “Can’t we wait till you’re . . . human?” He had looked forward to three hours of eating and quiet or, at most, gentle conversation with Zylas alone.
“Once the lady fully regains her strength, we need to move on.” Zylas eyed the pack. “Could you get me one of those beetles, please?”
Collins shoved a piece of bread in his mouth. He opened the pack, rummaging for the bug jar.
“It’s best you have the general layout down by then. We can review and discuss strategy en route.
Collins found the covered crock and pulled it out. He opened the lid, watching the horde of grape-sized insects crawl over one another, then placed it on the chest beside Zylas. He chewed and swallowed. “Are you sure this is really the easiest way?”
Zylas placed his nose into the crock, then withdrew suddenly, sneezing. “You mean sneaking into an unsuspecting castle and removing a small object?”
“Yes.”
“As opposed to taking on a phalanx of archers ordered to kill?”
When Zylas put it that way, it seemed clear.
“Well . . .”
“Near a town that found you guilty of murder and sentenced you to a hanging they damn well know they didn’t manage to complete.”
“All right. I get it.”
Zylas again stuck his face into the beetle crock. His squeaks echoed through the confines. “Of course, if you’d rather stay here with us forever . . .”
It was not an option. Even if his days were not numbered by how long it took the guards to catch up to him, Collins doubted he could live without the conveniences to which he had become accustomed: electric lights, refrigerators, modern medicine, pizza. He sighed at the thought. How much simpler his life could become if he did stay, but it would become so much better with a portal that allowed him to bring back the occasional Tylenol or Twinkie. Finally, he stated what he knew was true all along. “I can’t possibly stay.”
Zylas withdrew. “Would you mind getting one of those out for me, please. Every time I try, I get the whole bunch of them glomming onto my face.”
Collins reached into the crock and pinched out a single beetle. Gingerly, Zylas took it from Collins’ grip with his teeth, whiskers tickling.
Collins replaced the lid. “You going to want more?” Beetle clamped between his teeth, Zylas silently shook his head.
Collins returned the jar to the pack, smiling at how normal it now seemed to feed bugs to a talking rat. Only a couple of days ago, he would have considered it absolutely understandable to find himself locked in some loony bin for even imagining such behavior.
While Zylas ripped i
nto the beetle, Collins studied the bland interior of the cave. The dark, irregular walls surrounded a comfortable area, with nothing but the two chests to break the monotony. “What’s in the boxes?” he asked, surprised he had not wondered sooner.
Zylas abandoned the partially eaten beetle to answer. “Personal things, I’d venture. Clothes maybe, though the lady rarely wears any. Food, certainly. Baubles.”
“Baubles?”
“Things friends and intimates have given her through the ages.”
“Her hoard?” Collins suggested.
Now, it was Zylas’ turn to question. “Hoard?”
“Money,” Collins explained. “Silver and gold trinkets. Gems. Jewelry.” He came by the information through his brief stint of role-playing. “It’s generally believed in my world that dragons like shiny things and objects of value.”
Zylas abandoned his repast, red eyes positively glowing with excitement. “So you once had dragons in your world, too?”
The rat/man looked so happy, Collins hated to disappoint him, but he would not lie. “Only in myth and fairy tale, I’m afraid.”
The light died in Zylas’ eyes, and he returned to eating.
“Sixty million years before people, we did have dinosaurs. Those were giant lizards, some of which bore a resemblance to dragons.”
“Really.” Zylas spoke around a mouthful of bug. “Did they use magic?”
“Most had brains about the size of your lunch.” Collins addressed the question more directly, “It seems highly unlikely.”
Zylas made a wordless noise.
Collins returned to his point, “Anyway, in the stories, dragons keep hoards of shiny treasure which they guard fiercely.”
“It has to be shiny?”
“Apparently.” The details of legend seemed unimportant to Collins.
Zylas shook out his fur. “Well, that’s not like dragons here. At least, it’s not like the one I know. She doesn’t have much interest in . . . material things, except as they pertain to causes.”
“That’s good to know.” Collins could not see a long-term use for the knowledge. “If I ever write a story or start role-playing again, I’ll keep that in mind.”
Zylas finished the beetle, licked his paws, then cleaned his face with them.
Collins returned the leftover rations to the pack. Zylas waited only until he shoved it aside to ask, “Ready?”
“For what?” Collins asked cautiously.
“To learn the inside of the castle.”
“No,” Collins said, settling down on his buttocks. He doubted his answer mattered, however.
True to Collins’ hunch, Zylas began. “The lowest floor contains the storerooms and dungeons . . .”
The lesson droned on for hours while Falima continued to graze outside and Ialin made occasional buzzing appearances. Benton Collins got his first break when Prinivere appeared at the entrance. The green-gray scales looked ruffled, the leathern wings droopy, the ancient eyes dull. She dragged wearily back into the cave, finding her sleeping corner, and flopped to the ground. Zylas abandoned his lesson in the middle of a sentence and rushed to the dragon’s side. Ialin fluttered in after her, hovering at her eye level.
Savoring a few moments alone, Collins sighed and remained in place, unable to hear their exchange. His head whirled with information: kitchens and workshops on the ground floor, above underground storage rooms, food cellars, and the dungeons. The second story held the library and great dining hall, the third the servants’ quarters. Every floor had what Collins understood to be a primitive bathroom, translated as “garderobe.” Apparently, both dragon spell and translation stone considered it an English word, though he had never heard it before. He imagined it had not entered common American parlance; though, with their known penchant for fart, belch, and bathroom humor, it would have worked well there. Zylas described it rather like a park potty: a thigh-high platform with a hole in it. The rat/man seemed to think it might prove a suitable portal for entry, escape, or for secreting the magical crystal. Though not averse to tossing the stone down the hole, Collins would rather eat bugs than retrieve it afterward. And using it as an exit was not even a remote possibility.
Zylas knew nothing about the two uppermost floors because of their warding against switchers, but he surmised they held the private quarters of the royals. The roof was crenellated, with crossbowmen and ballistae protecting it, and the winding stairwell proceeded a story higher, to a trapdoor that opened onto the top of a guard tower. Heavy ironbound oak doors opened onto each floor and the roof in both directions, though the four to the two upper stories did not admit switchers . Apparently, if a commoner so much as touched it, the door would sound an alarm and latch up tight.
Unable to put any logical explanation to such a system, Collins had to assume magic. Unless other portals exist, and folks from civilizations more advanced than ours have come. He shoved the thought aside. Zylas would know that. Hard enough accepting magic. Do I have to put some Planet of the Apes twist on this? Collins had once read that “advanced science is virtually indistinguishable from magic.” The average man on the street could not explain how a toaster or a microwave worked, and a significant portion of the population considered the simple running of electricity through wires a miracle too technical for understanding. He himself found the concept of fax transmission fascinating and incomprehensible. The source doesn’t matter. I just need to know how it works on the macro level.
Shortly, Zylas returned, translation stone clutched in his jaws. He scurried up Collins’ arm to his shoulder and spit out the quartz to speak directly into the man’s ear. “She says she just needs a short nap. Then she should be strong enough to return home.”
“Home?”
“A different cave,” Zylas explained. “She has several residences. Safer.” He pawed the rose quartz into a more secure position. “Better you know as few as possible, too.”
Collins nodded agreement, then glanced at his watch. It read a couple of minutes until noon. “You’d better get off me. A full-grown man would definitely put a strain on my rotator cuff.”
“Don’t worry. I’m going.” The last syllable was muffled by the translation stone, and Zylas scrambled to the floor. He settled himself by the pack to wait.
Knowing his companion would emerge from his switch-form naked, Collins politely turned his back. Experience told him it was unnecessary. Accustomed to the change from birth, the Barakhains apparently did not view nudity as a vulnerable state the way full-time humans did. But the gesture made Collins feel more comfortable and respectful, and his discussion with Falima made it clear that embarrassment could be reawakened by the wrong stare.
Stealing the few moments during which the change distracted his companion, Collins left the cave. Clouds pulled like lace across the sun, dimming it to caramel. Falima whinnied a soft greeting. Flies settled in a line along her spine, and the skin of her legs wriggled to dislodge others. Scraggly mountain grasses drooped from her lips, growing shorter as she chewed.
Collins clambered up an enormous rock near the cave mouth and looked out over the crags. Tree-loaded mountains stretched as far as he could see, sunlight glazing their needles and leaves. Peaks and boulders thrust between wide patches of greenery. Absently, he stroked Falima’s back, dislodging the flies into angrily buzzing chaos. She swished her tail, black hairs like wires stinging across his bare arm. He shifted to a crouch to avoid another lashing and massaged the fur behind her ears. Her head sank, eyes closed, as she enjoyed his caress.
Collins shut his own eyes, imagining himself running his hand through the soft, black curtain of Falima’s human hair. The strands glided through his fingers like silk while he massaged the tension from her upper back. He could see himself sliding his hands to her breasts, her turning her head to meet his kiss.
“Ben!” Zylas’ voice shattered the guilty pleasure of Collins’ reverie.
Startled, Collins jerked, lost his footing on a smear of slime, and plummeted from
the back of the rock. The landing jarred through his ankles, and he slapped his hands on the rock to protect his face.
With a surprised whinny, Falima sidled away, eyeing Collins with wary caution.
Collins waited for the pain to fade before peering over the granite at Zylas in man form. “What did you do that for?”
Zylas studied Collins blandly from the shadow of his hat. “I presume my transgression was . . . um . . . speaking your name?”
Collins stepped around the rock, brushing dirt from his tunic. “The transgression part was sneaking up on us.” He glanced at Falima who shifted from hoof to hoof, still watching him with suspicion. “On me.”
“You were facing me,” Zylas defended. “I thought you saw me.”
“I had my eyes closed.”
“Ah, my fault.” Zylas smiled, clearly meaning none of it. “Falima was right. You are jumpy.”
That being self-evident, Collins did not deny it.
“Wouldn’t you be, too, if you had to do what I’m going to have to do?”
“Maybe.” Zylas continued to pin Collins with his gaze. “But you’ll do better calm.”
Easy to say. Collins grunted.
“Trust me.”
Believing Zylas’ description of the inside of the castle was firsthand, Collins did not argue. At least Zylas had had rat form to hide behind. Sneaking became much easier for someone the size of Collins’ fist. “What did you want?”
Zylas made a gesture Collins could not fathom. “We need to finish your lesson.”
Collins groaned. “Can’t we take a little break?”
Zylas tensed, glancing around at the sun glimmering from chips of quartz in the rocks, the brilliant blue of the sky, and the sparse, delicate clouds. “I suppose so. I just want . . .” He stared off into the distance, stiff and still. “. . . you . . . to succeed.”
“Why?” Collins spoke softly, afraid to frighten Zylas away from the truth. It seemed too important to the albino to solely hinge on Collins’ survival.
The Beasts of Barakhai Page 18