Two Renegade Realms (Realm Walkers Book 2) (8 page)
“He might be part of a trap, a conspirator with the guild.”
A great grumble shuddered through the rocks. A spattering of dust and tiny particles cascaded onto their heads.
Bixby shook her skirts to dislodge the crumbs of the cave ceiling. “This doesn’t look like the noise is just bluster.”
Dukmee took Bixby’s arm and guided her toward the door. “Even if the locks are a decoy, the reverberations of noise could destroy the honeycomb of caves and passages. We’d best leave.”
“I don’t trust this protector.” Cantor shook his head and combed fingers through his gritty hair.
Bixby left Dukmee and ran back to grab the front of Cantor’s tunic. “Come on! Remember I checked his aura, and he’s fine. He doesn’t have evil intentions.”
Bridger appeared in the door. “Are you coming?”
Accompanied by rumbles, grinding, and miscellaneous pops, Bixby and Cantor ran after Bridger.
Whoever had set up the library with lights and the Orreries Chamber with lasting power had also provided illumination for the halls. At times, the glow came from phosphorescent rocks. Certain stretches had contraptions that hummed but
also emitted a steady, radiant beam. Dukmee had expressed the desire to take one down and examine it, but Bixby doubted they’d have the time now.
The shaking walls didn’t interrupt the supply of light. For that, Bixby was grateful. She’d packed her caged globe hat in her camping hamper, but she had no idea where she’d put it. Where inside of her clothing had she attached that container?
Bridger stopped abruptly, and Bixby ran into him, finding herself standing on his tail and plastered uncomfortably against his spiny back. Cantor did a better job of coming to a halt. He bumped into Bixby, but it was a gentle bump.
They peered around the dragon to see Dukmee standing under a light, holding the ward book at chin level and scanning the pages with haste. Bixby realized if she had been the one holding the book and searching for clues, her aura would have been frantic. Dukmee’s remained calm but hurried. Even patterns undulating with precision.
She often wished the auras came with music. The colored lines fluctuated with a beat. Sometimes she likened it to the pulse of a heartbeat one could feel in a person’s neck or wrist. A quick country dance would match Dukmee’s present aura.
“What are you looking for?” asked Cantor.
“A stopgap. Something to slow down or halt the guarding wards.” He bent his nose to the pages again. “I’ve found the right section, but I’m having to translate as I read. And I’m reading while I run. These are not optimal conditions for finding, learning, and applying new skills.”
Neekoh arrived, having doubled back to find them. “It’s only a little more than a mile. We have to hurry.”
He took off again without waiting to see if they would join him.
“Let’s go.” Bridger plunged down the pathway.
Bixby trotted in front of the two men. None of them panted. But Bixby sniffed.
“Cold?” asked Dukmee.
“No, sensing. The air smells damp to me.”
Dukmee held the book open, reading and running. He glanced up. “Could be an underground river, stream, pond, or spring.”
Cantor sniffed. “You’re right. Wet. Hopefully this water won’t cause a delay. I think we’re going down, not up. Shouldn’t we be going up to exit the mountain?”
Bixby stumbled as she looked over her shoulder. She caught her balance and continued but kept her eyes forward. “When Dukmee and I came in, we went around and around and ran into lots of dead ends. Neekoh seems to be headed in one direction. When he makes a turn, we never end up in a cul-de-sac. I don’t think he’s lost. Maybe this path goes down first and then rises.”
From ahead of them, they could hear Bridger’s heavy tread slow and then stop. The three realm walkers dropped to a fast walk.
Stepping out of the rock tunnel, Bixby, Cantor, and Dukmee joined Bridger and Neekoh. Everyone stared at the strange sight in front of them. Only Neekoh looked pleased.
The great, dark emptiness felt gigantic. Bixby assumed the vast cavern stretched upward and outward for great distances. They could not see far, and that added to the illusion of considerable space.
Lights hung around the walls, but the lights did not push back the measureless darkness. The light globes reflected in thin straight lines across the watery surface. A placid lake
explained the moist air. Without the sun, moon, or stars, the water looked like a sheet of shiny black cloth.
“What is this?” asked Cantor.
“A lake.” Neekoh looked over his shoulder with his mobile eyebrows arched to their highest points. “You have lakes above, don’t you?”
“Of course.” Cantor’s eyes squinted. “How does this help us escape the mountain?”
“Well, you’ve noticed the rumbly-grumblies aren’t so ferocious now. We’ve come away from the protected area.”
Cantor scowled. “Did you know the trapping wards would spring into being after we broke the first ward? Shouldn’t you have warned us?”
Neekoh looked chagrined. “You see, it has been many years of repeating all the traditions, handed down verbally through the generations. Some of the precise instructions have become untidy. I was trying to remember why the broken ward brought me to the library.”
Bixby’s soft voice inquired. “Did you remember?”
The young man turned gratefully to the only one who did not look angry. “Yes, a few seconds after the sound of the locks closing. I was sent there to decide if you were friend or foe and to rescue you if you were friends.”
Bixby smiled. “Thank you for leading us out.”
Neekoh’s fair complexion turned red. “You’re welcome.”
Cantor stepped between the girl and the stranger. “The exit?”
“We go across the lake, through the rough tunnels to the valley, free Chomountain, and leave by the east gate.” He looked at them, obviously befuddled. “Isn’t that what you wanted to do?”
Dukmee handed the ward book to Bixby. “Put that somewhere safe.” He turned to Neekoh. “Yes, we want to get out of this mountain. We have an important mission.”
Neekoh grinned and nodded. “To rescue Chomountain.”
“No, to save the nine planes.”
A look of dismay flashed across the guardian’s smooth face. “With Chomountain’s aid, your mission will be accomplished readily.”
Cantor strode forward. “If we have time. We have a limited time to gather the forces to repel the invaders. How do we cross the lake?”
“In a boat.”
“What boat?”
Neekoh put a finger to his chin. He never lost his pleasant expression as he looked back and forth. “Ah!” His eyebrows shot up. He trotted along the shore and came back, dragging an eight-foot skiff.
Cantor’s low voice came out lower and more growly than ever. “We won’t all fit in that boat.”
Still cheerful and smiling, Neekoh nodded. “Hadn’t thought of that. But something will turn up. Something we can use, that is. There are things that might show up that are not helpful at all.”
“Like what?” asked Bridger.
“Toombalians.”
C
antor searched his mind.
Toombalians
did not register.
Before he could ask, Bridger voiced his question, “What are toombalians?”
“Mythical creatures,” Dukmee answered.
The mage crouched by the edge of the lake, dipped his fingers in the black water, and then brought his hand to his nose and sniffed. He looked around at his companions. “Nobody drink this. Keep it away from your eyes.”
Bridger lumbered over to the edge of the water. “Mythical? That means fiction, right? Not real?”
“Let me explain.” Dukmee wiped his hand on a handkerchief he fished from his pocket. “Nothing has been written of them since scholars quit recording in the old language. However, in careful anthropologic research, myths often are found to have roots in reality.”
Bridger sat down with a thump.
His constant’s confusion drifted into Cantor’s mind and muddled his thinking. Their minds combined, bundling each of their apprehensions into one tangled web of anxiety.
The shared concern drove Cantor to ask for clarification. “So you’re saying the animals that toombalians are based upon could exist?”
“That’s right, as far as it goes.” Dukmee continued in his teacher mode. “A myth is a strong element in a culture. A story in itself does not meet the criteria. To acquire the status of myth, the tale must stand as an explanation of happenings the populace cannot rationalize with their limited means of science. Myths then take part in the forming of the culture’s religious beliefs, form of government, and their standards or morals.”
A spike of annoyance cleared Cantor’s head. Dukmee used an awful lot of words to say something.
Dukmee continued. “In this case, the mythical toombalians are animals floating in the water like upside down jellyfish. Their tentacles look like plant stalks. These appendages impede the movement of anything on the surface, generally a boat. And they also emit a poison into the air when bumped.”
Cantor wanted to shake the mage out of his arrogant air and bring him back down to being a friend, not a know-it-all. He drew in a deep breath. He knew Dukmee’s scholar persona could disappear as quickly as it had surfaced. In order to tolerate his more obnoxious stances, Cantor attempted to remember how useful the man could be, how generous, how loyal, resourceful, and funny.
Then, as if to deliberately test Cantor’s limits of understanding, the mage took a hamper from his robe and sat on the dark soil of the lake’s shore. He pulled out several glass
vials and took samples of the soil and water. With a pen, he carefully labeled his collection.
Cantor turned from Dukmee’s scientific gatherings and looked toward Bridger. The dragon put his hand across his brow as if protecting his eyes from the sun and peered out over the dark expanse. “Does anything live in that lake?”
A smile quirked Neekoh’s lips. “You mean anything like toombalians?”
Bridger puffed out his cheeks. A ring-shaped cloud of smoke escaped his pursed lips. The circle floated over to come down over Neekoh’s head and settle for a moment around his neck. “I mean,” said Bridger in a cool tone, “anything at all.”
Cantor stepped between the two, casually blocking any direct contact. He wondered at the rise of impatience in Bridger. His friend rarely displayed anything but the most genial attitude.
“So, Dukmee.” Cantor turned the conversation. “Are we likely to run into relatives of the toombalians?”
The scholar held up a finger, indicating they must wait a moment for his answer. He finished writing on one of his tubes and packed it with the others in a cushioned box. “Possible, but doubtful. After all, if one hasn’t been reported for an eon, then either they didn’t exist to begin with or their species has died out. I think we’d best worry about crossing this lake.”
Cantor turned to Bridger, sitting with a discontented look on his face and stroking Jesha.
“Bridge, would you be a boat for us?”
“Maybe. Depends on what kind of boat. I won’t be a sailboat. Too many odd pieces. The sails are most uncomfortable.”
Cantor nodded toward the skiff Neekoh had dragged over. “Like this one?”
Still
looking grumpy, the dragon approached the small vessel and looked it over. “Sure. I can do this easily.”
“I’ll go with Neekoh.” Dukmee looked up from his work. “I’m done here. Bixby, are you coming with me or going with Bridger?”
Neekoh took hold of the bow and shoved the skiff into the dark waters. “Two passengers to a boat.” He jumped into the wooden craft. “That puts your girl with the giant.”
“I’m not a giant.” A hiss of annoyance carried the words through Cantor’s pressed lips.
Neekoh sat down, the cheer on his face unmarred by Cantor’s retort. He shrugged and answered, “I didn’t know. I’ve never seen a giant and I’ve never seen anyone as big as you. I thought you were a giant, but since you say you are not, I look forward to meeting someone even larger.”
Bixby tossed Cantor a warning glare, then turned her attention to the unsophisticated man. “It’s all right, Neekoh. We know you didn’t mean to be insulting. Cantor is a realm walker.”
“And,” added Dukmee, “there are no true giants.”
Bridger and Neekoh chorused, “Really?”
“Really.”
“Let’s just hope there are no true toombalians.” Bridger stretched out his wings, making Bixby and Cantor duck. “Sorry, just getting the kinks out before I shift. I haven’t flown in a while, and that’s not good for my circulation. Now I’m going to be a boat. Shifting is good for my overall fitness, but staying boatish for a time is not.”
“It will only take a day or so to cross,” said Neekoh. “I’ve never had any trouble on the water.” He gave a look to Bridger that Cantor took to be an apology. “I’ve never seen anything living in this lake except some plants.”
Cantor glowered at
the little man, just to remind him to be more circumspect in what he said. “What is to be our course?”
“Straight away from here. Keep your back to this lighted shore. Just as the glow slides beneath the horizon, look to the shimmer of the water before you. That luminescence gains strength as we travel. After many hours you will be passing over the source of that radiance — tiny, shining water plants. The lake is shallow there, and the tops of these remarkable plants float on the surface.”