Mickey Reichert: The beasts of Barakhai

Lattie brushed through an area that looked impenetrable. Beginning to wonder if he had made a dangerous decision, Collins followed. Thorns glided from his sleeves, rattling against his heavier britches and tunic, then parted to reveal a simple garden. Unlike the tended patches of the inner courtyard, this one grew relatively wild. Flowers of countless hues intermingled patternlessly, and vines twisted through them to overflow from the low stone frames. In the center sat a clay bowl on a stand, looking very much like a birdbath, though the canopy did not admit rainwater. Beetles and bees hovered around it, and Collins caught a sweet, unfamiliar scent beneath the already clashing perfumes of the various flowers.

Collins turned to question his companion, only to find her gone. Soft fur tickled his ankles. He rolled his gaze downward to the plump calico he had discovered in the castle stairway window. The issue of the bowl's contents would have to wait until he met with Carrie Quinton again, since his current companion would remain an uncommunicative animal for at least the next twelve hours.

Collins wandered farther into the garden until he found a carved granite bench. He sat, leaning against the smooth back. Cold seeped through his britches but could not penetrate the double layer of his shirt and tunic. The cat leaped up beside him. Before he could even find the most comfortable position, she clambered delicately into his lap, curled into every contour, and purred.

Laughing, Collins stroked the multicolored fur, immediately drawn to memories of his childhood. In those days, his parents had made a handsome, seemingly happy couple. Fluffy had had her choice of laps, preferring Mom's but accepting his when she was not available. Though third choice, Dad enjoyed his time with the cat, often devoting his full attention to stroking the silky fur, examining the ears for ticks or lice, the body for scratches.

Collins forced his thoughts to his current situation. Essentially alone in a sweetsmelling garden, caressed by spring breezes, his wounds dulled to a tolerable ache, a refreshing sleep just behind him, he felt contented and clearheaded. During the night, his thoughts had shifted and resettled. He liked the king and the beautiful woman who shared so much in common with him: a student trapped in a world where magic usurped laws that had once seemed utterly obvious and infallible. People changed into animals, stones and spells allowed otherwise impossible communication, massive dragons not only existed but cast magic and flew. Pardoned from the gallows, he no longer felt the anxious rush to return home to Demarkietto's demands, his imminent breakup with Marlys, his parents' selfindulgence. He wondered if anyone even missed him yet, aside from the inconvenience of dirty rat cages and experiments lost to unintentional neglect.

Carrie Quinton filled his mind's eye. Beautiful, graceful, intelligent, she seemed the perfect woman… and way out of his league. Yet he dared to hope that their shared interests and experience might bring them together. Like the veterans of Vietnam, they had become part of a world that strangers would never understand, that would likely taint their lives for eternity. That alone would have to bring them together, if not as a couple, at least as lifelong friends. Her decision to touch him, her gentle kindness, gave him hope where once he would not even have dared to consider a relationship possible.

Necessarily, Collins' thoughts went to Zylas and his crew. The king's and Quinton's explanations brought so much that had once seemed fuzzy to brilliant clarity. A million tiny details that had eluded him or that he had tossed away as unimportant now worked their way to the fore. Clearly, Zylas had deliberately brought him to Barakhai. He remembered how the white rat had kept appearing just when he had lost hope of ever finding it. Zylas had led him directly to this world; and, he now knew, others before him. All the things Collins had gratefully accepted: Zylas and Falima saving his life, returning his watch and cell phone, feeding and clothing him, protecting him from taunts and disdain, had become a sham. Zylas owed him all of that and more. One simple discovery, that Zylas had deliberately lured him here, turned the whole relationship, the whole matter, on its ear.

Lattie rubbed against Collins' hand, purr insistent. He increased his attention, running both hands the full length of her silky body, dislodging fur to spin wildly through bars of sunlight. So many glances, so many stifled comments and otherlanguage exchanges gained meaning. It now seemed clear that he would give up Zylas, Falima, and Ialin to the king; but other things still needed consideration. He believed Terrin would understand Korfius' decision to join them, given that it mostly hinged on loyalty to the royal line, to which he believed Collins belonged. Though Vernon likely had some understanding of the scheme, Collins liked him and hated the thought of getting him into trouble. As to Prinivere, he needed to understand more about why dragons had become extinct. Given the greatness of her age and the withering of her magic, she seemed harmless without the enhancing stone. Perhaps he could negotiate for her life as well.

The thistles to Collins' left rattled. He glanced toward them, hands stilling on the cat.

Lattie butted his hand.

The plants quivered again, the movement too broad for wind. A yip wafted to him.

The cat froze, attention now on the sound as well.

Suddenly, a dog burst through the foliage. Ears swung down beside an ebony head, followed by a longlegged black body. It launched itself at Collins.

Lattie's body swelled to twice its normal size, and she yowled a warning. Her claws sank into Collins' leg.

"Ow!" Collins sprang to his feet, dumping the cat. She scrabbled wildly, raking gouges into his already bruised thighs. The dog hurled itself into Collins' emptied lap, all legs and tongue. The cat raced into the gardens. The dog flew after her, tearing up plants and flinging dirt with every bound.

Collins charged after the animals, trying to stop them. "Hey!" he yelled. "Down, dog! Get down!" He watched helplessly as Lattie scrambled up a canopy post, the dog yapping at her heels.

"No! Bad dog!" Collins lunged for the dog's neck, but it bounced out of reach, still barking at the cat.

Lattie made it to the top, but the give of the canopy turned her motions into an awkward stagger and roll. The dog pranced around the stake for several moments, keeping just beyond Collins' reach. Then the cat lost her footing, tumbling to the center of the canopy where she thrashed desperately. The dog continued leaping and barking at the overhead lump in the fabric of the canopy. Lattie yowled in terror. Abruptly, the dog raced from the garden.

For a moment, Collins breathed a sigh of relief. Then, realizing he could not rescue Lattie from beneath the canopy and that the dog might know another way to get to her, he sprinted after the dog. Thistles jabbed his legs, ripping his right sleeve, and vines snagged his ankles. He fell on his face, rolling from the brush to the freedom of the grassy courtyard. He saw the dog running toward the stone stairway leading to the parapet. The nearest guards paced several yards away and clearly had not noticed the dog.

Collins struggled to his feet, every injury reawakened by the fall. Despite the pain, he managed a frantic sprint. The dog scrambled up the stairway. Collins reached the bottom as the animal gained the platform, then turned sharply toward the canopy. The dog's plan became clear. The canopy lay almost flush with the wall, and the dog could easily leap from the parapets to the entangled cat. Gravity would pull both struggling animals to the center where they might tear and bite each other to serious injury or death. Or the cloth could tear, spilling both animals to the hard ground. Collins quickened his pace, thundering up the stone stairs as fast as his screaming muscles would carry him.