Mickey Reichert: The lost Dragons of Barakhai

The humans traded glances, and Collins now realized that more had joined them. New animals had arrived as well, including an ocelot and a bobcat, who must have crept out from holes beneath the ledges. Some of the newcomers examined Collins' offerings, and a naked preteen girl began raking them into piles.

Collins stopped describing. Ultimately, it did not matter. "Look, if I can get those dragons out of this place, they can make magic that takes away that involuntary shape-changing… curse thingy."

Captivated either by Collins' words or his excitement, the group kept every eye focused directly upon him. No one spoke.

Collins delivered what he thought would prove the coup de grace. "You can all walk out of this prison as easily as I walked in." He waited for applause or cheering, anything to show they understood the significance of his revelation.

Instead, they all looked at him curiously. The original speaker cleared his throat. "Prison?"

Skinny Girl added, "Walk out to where?"

The triumphant grin that had crept across Collins' face with his final pronouncement withered. "To-to the real world. The world beyond these inescapable caverns." Sudden realization hit him low in the gut. These switchers knew little or nothing of their history. To them, the entire planet began and ended at the barriers thwarting their escape. The river, with its life-giving water and the objects outsiders tossed into it, was probably a god to them.

"To your world?" the girl continued. "Where there're no switches or switch-forms. No royalty."

"No, no, no." Collins slapped the heel of his hand against the knot of torn T-shirt on his forehead, further worsening his headache. "You live in a small part of Barakhai. Out there, there's a whole… " He avoided the term "world" this time. "… a whole other place, more of Barakhai, with buildings and sunshine, towns and villages, where people don't worry that their neighbors might eat them. I come from somewhere else. Somewhere farther, separated from Barakhai by magic." He did not know what to name it, uncertain how the spell might translate English terms such as "The World" or "Earth," especially since he could not even say whether or not he had left the planet or the scientifically known universe. With my luck, Earth would come out as Dirt.

The human fraction of the group whispered among themselves, while the animals shifted from paw to paw.

Uncertain whether or not he had clarified things or muddled the situation even more, Collins tried to think it through. He believed he understood how such a strange bunch of creatures had come together. Likely, it had started with animals who tended to herd or pack and with human counterparts with an eye toward family and protection of those weaker, including their own offspring. Some of the stronger, less social creatures, like the cougar, preferred to spend most of their lives alone. Others might band solely for the purpose of hunting or procreation, such as pure inbred packs of wolves or prides of lions. A group as mismatched as the one that had discovered him had to have security and companionship in mind. Otherwise, the fiercest would already have devoured those most vulnerable. Amid the chaos of eternal imprisonment, at least this one civilized society had emerged, perhaps more. He had to play on their sense of community.

Collins felt utterly beaten. His head pounded, as prone to shatter as a glass-blown figurine. He ached in a million places, and the thought of dragging his tattered body one step farther made him cringe. Nevertheless, he gathered what little energy remained and declared, "I'm sorry I don't have time to explain any more. If I don't leave now, my mission will fail." It was not technically true. Even with Zylas gone, he could still complete the ultimate goal. "And a good man will die for nothing."

Collins tilted his chin, a defiant gesture that nearly cost him his consciousness. "I'm leaving. If you stop me, I will fight with every ounce of strength left in my body." Yeah, that ought to last about a second.

The tortoise started toward him, through a silence that admitted only the steady water-song of the stream. Enormous, paddlelike feet heaved the huge shell forward in a lumbering style that precluded speed. Collins clambered off the ledge to meet her, the simple gesture pounding him with exhaustion and dizziness. He hoped Ialin, Falima, Ver-non, and Aisa fared better, because it seemed unlikely he would ever make it to the dragons. In time. The downward spiral of his thoughts quickened. Oh, come on, Ben. Don't let hope turn you into a fool. If the dragons were here, someone would certainly have seen them.

Collins dropped to his haunches, and the tortoise practically climbed into his lap to meet his gaze levelly. One ancient, clay-colored eye met both of his, and the burden of its one foot on his thigh crushed him against stone. The tortoise had to weigh two or three hundred pounds. Uncertain of its purpose, or the best way to pet a reptile, he reached out a careful hand and set it gently on the animal's head. "Scaly," he murmured. "Scaly, like this."

The long, tortoise neck stretched from its domed shell. If Collins added even a vestigial tail, the creature had to measure a good four feet. He froze, uncertain how to react as the tortoise laid its beaked head upon his shoulder.

A redhead with a scarred face explained, "Mataia approves of you. She's the oldest and wisest of us, and we will help you."

Relieved, Collins gave the tortoise's neck a gentle hug, then scratched the scales on the top of her head. Though akin to stroking large-grained sandpaper, the gesture was the only one he could think of to express his appreciation. She's human, too, stupid. Probably with great overlap. "Thank you," Collins told Mataia. He looked past her enormous form to the humans and animals beyond, "And thank all of you, too. I'm not sure how you can help, but-" A possibility came to Collins even as he spoke the words. "Did any of you hear the sound I played on my recorder?"

The teenaged girl continued to sort through the food and clothing Collins had given them, and two boys who looked like they were about eight or nine years old came over to help her. The rest of the group continued to regard Collins in silence.

Realizing "recorder" might not have translated, Collins clarified, "I brought a sound with me. Until it broke, I used my little box thing to make it."

The black woman held up the smashed remains of the recorder, and Collins wondered where she had hidden it until that moment. He guessed someone had his knife as well.

"Yes, that's it! Did you hear it?"

Several of the humans, and even some of the animals, bobbed their heads. Mataia eased off of Collins' thigh, to his relief. His leg buzzed with a pins and needles sensation, and he cringed through the pain of returning circulation.

"Is that what you're looking for?" a middle-aged man in a loincloth asked, the only human in the gathering with gray in his hair. "The monsters who make that sound?"

"That's them!" Collins said, too excited to question the term "monsters."

The black woman made a decisive gesture. "Come with us, then." Her voice sounded inexplicably tired. "We'll take you there."

Once imprisoned, Ialin allowed his agitation free rein, pacing the confines of his dungeon cell relentlessly to work off a long-suppressed tide of nervous energy. He ceased caring about keeping up appearances. Even a usually composed bear could be expected to demonstrate discomfort when locked in a cage anticipating questioning and, possibly, execution.

As instructed, Vernon returned before Ialin's switch, though time would tell whether or not the mouse had located Zylas during his absence. It seemed long enough to the hummingbird/man for Vernon to have found an army of missing renegades, yet Ialin never trusted his own concept of time. Others tended to find him irritatingly impatient.