The Beasts of Barakhai Read online

  “Just Ben’s fine,” Collins said before Vernon could stop him. “And what’s your name?”

  “Korfius, Your Majesty.” The boy stifled a yawn.

  “How old are you?” Collins asked.

  “Twelve,” Korfius replied. His posture improved abruptly as he added, “Almost a man.”

  Barely a kid. Collins kept the thought to himself. “What do you remember . . .” He glanced at Vernon for help. “. . . from . . . switch time?”

  Vernon nodded his approval of the query, so Collins turned his attention back to Korfius.

  “Not much, Your Majesty,” Korfius’ face reddened again. “I knew I was with royalty. And a horse-guard.” His eyes crinkled. “Though I don’t know why or how.” He looked askance at Collins, who pretended not to see. The less Korfius knew, the safer he remained.

  Apparently thinking along the same lines, Vernon rose and gestured at the pallet. “Why don’t you get some sleep, Korfius?”

  Collins winced, anticipating an explosion. No nearteen he knew would agree to nap like a child.

  But the boy only nodded before glancing hesitantly at Collins. “Is that all right, Your Majesty?”

  Struck dumb, Collins could only imitate Vernon’s gesture. “You sleep, Korfius. I’ll be fine. Vernon and I have work to take care of.”

  Korfius bowed. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Still naked, he headed toward the pallet.

  “I’ve got clothes in the drawers.” Vernon walked to the door. “Something in there should fit you.”

  Collins doubted it. Anything that covered Vernon’s enormous form would fit Korfius about as well as a circus tent. “Sleep well.” He followed Vernon outside and closed the door. As it clicked in place, he hurriedly tried to explain. “About that cannibal thing—”

  Vernon interrupted, leading Collins among a stand of poplar at the outskirts of the woods. “So, what did you eat?”

  “Well—”

  “Let me guess. A pig?”

  “No, but—”

  “A cow?”

  “No.”

  “A chicken?”

  “No.” Turning the details of murder into a game embarrassed Collins. “You don’t—”

  Vernon whirled suddenly toward Collins. “Give me a hint.”

  Collins stammered, “I—it was . . . a—a rabbit named Joetha.”

  Vernon came to an abrupt halt, and terror ground through Collins. “It seems,” the hermit started coolly, “that you don’t know what ‘a hint’ means.” Apparently to show he meant no malice, he turned Collins a broad grin.

  “You don’t hate me?”

  “Nope.”

  “But . . . but . . . I ate . . .”

  Vernon resumed his walk. “I presume you ate her before you knew about switch-forms?”

  The bare thought that Vernon might even consider otherwise twisted Collins’ gut. “Yes! I-I wouldn’t—”

  “Of course, you wouldn’t. Who would?”

  Outside of a few lunatic serial killers, Collins could think of no one.

  Vernon continued, “If you’re kind and decent, and I believe most people are, you wouldn’t kill someone on purpose. I’m not going to condemn an accident, even if it did result in death.”

  Collins went speechless with gratitude. He felt tears welling in his eyes.

  Vernon politely studied the trees, then chose a deadfall and sat. Shadows dappled his skin, making him appear even darker. “Zylas gave you his stone, didn’t he?”

  Relieved he would not have to keep a secret from Vernon, Collins nodded.

  “He must really like you. And trust you. He’s rarely even let me hold it, and we’ve been friends for thirty years.”

  “Thirty years.” Collins wiped the moisture from his eyes and looked over his companion. The stocky man appeared too young for such a long friendship. “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-five.”

  Collins made a wordless noise that Vernon took for encouragement.

  “Our switch time overlaps perfectly. And his mother and I—both mice.”

  “Yes.” Collins intensified his scrutiny, gaze flickering over the broad neck, solid musculature, and whaleboned figure of his newest companion. “So I heard. Hard to believe.”

  Vernon’s eyes narrowed curiously. “Why?”

  The answer seemed so obvious to Collins, he found himself simplifying to the level of Tarzan. “Mouse small. You . . . big.”

  Vernon stretched, sinews rippling. “Sometimes it works out that way. Especially Randoms.” He smiled. “Would it surprise you to find out my father was a bear?”

  “Your mother must have been an amoeba.”

  Vernon halted in mid-stretch. “What?”

  “Never mind.” Then, feeling the need to explain at least somewhat, Collins finished, “I’m just thinking a bear would have to combine with something really really tiny to make a mouse.”

  “Mama was a skunk.”

  Collins’ head jerked toward Vernon before he could hide his surprise. “A skunk?”

  Vernon’s dark eyes hardened. “Yeah, I’m half downcaste . What about it?”

  Surprised by the sudden hostility, Collins raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Nothing about it. I don’t even know what downcaste means, at least not the way you’re using it.”

  The softness returned gradually to Vernon’s face, then he managed a short laugh. “Of course, you don’t. I’m sorry.”

  Collins nodded.

  “The downcaste are necessary animals relegated to the most distasteful tasks. Creatures the civilized animals wouldn’t lower themselves to associate with because they have some undesirable characteristic or habit that makes them . . . repulsive to the urbanists.”

  “Like skunks?” Collins asked carefully, not certain he truly understood. He saw nothing essential about skunks. A friend who lived on a small acreage talked about regularly trapping and killing them because more than ninety percent carried rabies in that area.

  “Garbage handlers,” Vernon explained. “Vultures and hyenas take care of the dead, the only ones allowed by law to eat meat. Goats and pigeons manage the sewage.” He wrinkled his nose, unable to keep even his prejudice wholly in check. “They prefer the company of urbanists and eat anything.”

  “Urbanists?” Collins prompted.

  “Creatures who live in cities.” Vernon drew a leg to his chest. “Cows, horses, dogs, cats, and such. Some birds.”

  Recalling an earlier conversation with Zylas, Collins added, “Durithrin. They also form a social group?”

  “The wildones include creatures who prefer the woods to others’ company.”

  Collins realized the stone sometimes translated even those words that worked better in the other language, such as replacing durithrin with wildones. He supposed urbanists and downcaste had Barakhain equivalents that would have given him less clue to their meaning. “Deer, squirrels, bears, songbirds . . . ?”

  “ . . . wolves, alligators, wildcats.” Vernon shivered. “Once one of those gets a taste for meat, there’s no choice but hanging. They will kill again.”

  That explained the severity of Collins’ punishment, the lack of a trial, and the intensity of the hunt. Not like in my world where serial killers are rare and always crazy. He displayed his new understanding. “Urbanists, wildones, and downcaste. Your social classes in order of . . .” He searched for words Vernon might not find insulting. “. . . perceived importance.”

  “Don’t forget royals at the top: all human all the time. Workers before wildones. And, at the very bottom, vermin.”

  With a start, Collins realized that had to include Vernon and Zylas. He swallowed hard, pressing any emotion from his voice. “Define vermin.”

  “Those forbidden to breed with their own kind.” Vernon shrugged. “Who wants more mice, rats, snakes, and the like?”

  “But you and Zylas—”

  “Randoms. We weren’t made what we are on purpose.”

  Uncomfortable with the subject, Collin
s pressed on. “And workers?”

  Vernon drew up his other leg. “Those who don’t quite fit with the urbanists but have a high, useful skill to market. Like beavers, who build. Porcupines, the tailors. Moles and weasels, miners, though some would debate whether they go with the workers or the downcaste.”

  Collins glanced around the forest, seeing the trees gently bowing in the breeze, the sun glazing every leaf and branch with gold. It seemed impossibly peaceful, hiding the moment when hounds and hunters once again crashed through them, seeking him. He could imagine other specialized creatures: songbird musicians, shrew crop-weeders, bear beekeepers, but he did not question. Closer matters needed discussion, and a realization required voicing. “So you’re the other one who’s visited my world.”

  “Several times,” Vernon admitted. “With Zylas.”

  “Why?”

  “Why,” Vernon repeated, running his fingers through tight curls, straightening them momentarily before they sprang back in place. “Why not?”

  Collins suspected that was all the answer he was going to get. “Where’s Falima?”

  “Hidden.” Vernon lowered his legs. “Underground. Too big for your hiding place.”

  “Agreed.” Now, Collins pulled his own feet onto the deadfall, turning to fully face Vernon. “Underground bunkers. Hidden crawl spaces.” He spread his fingers. “Why?”

  “Because,” Vernon said with caution. “Sometimes, good folks need hiding.”

  It answered nothing. But, for the moment, Collins thought it best not to press.

  Chapter 8

  Benton Collins learned more about his newest companion as they headed into the woods surrounding Vernon’s cottage. Despite his first thirteen years as a garbage scavenger, Vernon had inherited his father bear’s sweet tooth. In addition to visiting another world with Zylas, he had trusted the albino in many situations where common sense suggested he do otherwise. Not the least of these involved treating a horse-guard and a dog-guard to secrets that could get him in as much trouble as Collins and make it impossible for him to help other needy folk in the future.

  Known as a reclusive vermin, Vernon had few friends or visitors, except when fugitives needed hiding. Luckily, this was not often, so he spent most of his time as he preferred, alone or with Zylas or the handful of durithrin/wildones he found worthy of his company. This included Ialin, whom he assured Collins was pleasant and honorable, if flighty, company under most circumstances.

  Collins’ mind still struggled against the full picture. At times, Barakhai seemed surreal and distant, at other times too vivid and terrifying. He had discovered a place where dream met savage reality, where nightmare fused inseparably with an existence too obviously genuine to deny. He wanted to get to know his strange companions, at least two of whom already felt like friends. At the same time, he could not find a new portal home too soon. “What are we going to do with Korfius?”

  Vernon stopped in what seemed like a random location, studying the trees, shrubbery, and weeds with a wary anxiety. At length, his shoulders fell, his arms uncoiled, and his fingers opened from clenched fists. He turned to face Collins. “I don’t know.”

  Collins studied the site intently, wondering what detail had reassured Vernon. “What are we looking at?”

  “Falima.” Vernon gestured at scattered leaves piled not-quite-casually in a circle of trees. “Undisturbed. They didn’t find her.” He headed back toward his cabin.

  Collins hated the idea of leaving Falima alone in some underground bunker, but he saw no good alternative. He heard nothing to suggest the location upset her, no thudding hooves against planking, no frantic whinnies. By now, she had probably found a comfortable position to sleep, and disturbing her might prove more foolhardy and dangerous than leaving her in the quiet darkness. He stumbled after the black man. “Korfius?” he repeated.

  Vernon shrugged, reminding Collins he had already answered the question.

  “What did Zylas say about him?”

  Vernon did not look back as the cottage came into view. The thatched roof sagged at the center, and clear gaps had worn through some of the cracks between boards. Wood lay in a neat stack that obliterated the western wall, the one concealing Collins’ hiding place. “Zylas called it ‘necessary abduction.’ Said the boy hadn’t changed yet, but ought to soon. Asked if I could help you come up with a story that might convince him not to betray you to the other guards.”

  Collins considered. “What did you come up with?”

  Now, Vernon did turn. “Me? Nothing. I didn’t think anything would convince that boy to cooperate. Figured we’d wind up having to do something . . . desperate.”

  Collins sucked in a quick breath, his mind substituting “murder,” though consideration made that doubtful. Little more than strangers to him, these people had already risked their lives and futures for him. Surely, they would not add a capital crime to the lesser ones they had committed for him.

  Apparently oblivious to Collins’ consternation, Vernon continued, “But the boy made it easy for you, didn’t he?”

  “How so?” Collins’ voice emerged hoarser than he expected.

  “Figured you for royalty.” Vernon flashed a broad-lipped smile. “That should give you lots of possibilities.”

  Collins did not share Vernon’s confidence. “Except I don’t know how to act like royalty.”

  Vernon laughed, a deep full-throated sound. “Doesn’t matter, really. We common folk don’t know how royalty acts anyway. We don’t intermingle.”

  It seemed impossible. “Never?”

  Vernon dipped his head. “Pretty much. The town leaders take audience now and again, to get their instructions, convey new laws, handle disputes and disasters. Stuff like that.” He started walking again. “And we sometimes see a royal guard or messenger, though they’re not full-time humans like blood royalty. Only rarely do actual royals choose to walk among us.”

  “So my strangeness . . .”

  “. . . could pass for normal royal behavior, as far as a twelve-year-old boy could guess. And he wouldn’t know any royal by appearance alone.”

  “What about my complete inability to speak the language? Don’t you think that’ll cue him in?”

  Vernon stopped at his door to regard Collins again. “Not a problem currently.” His gaze dropped to Collins’ fist where the translation stone nestled against his fingers. “Probably not later either. All but the most distant of the downcaste speaks the language of the urbanists. But the wildones, the downcaste, and the workers have languages of their own. And some of the more reclusive species have a tongue based on their animal-speak. Zylas and I sometimes use your language when we want to keep things private. It seems likely the royals would have a private language as well. It wouldn’t surprise anyone to find out some royals don’t even bother to learn the most common speech of switchers.” He seized the latch, still looking at Collins. “Ready?”

  “Yes,” Collins said, though he was not. He doubted he ever would be, however, so now seemed as good as any time.

  The door swung open noiselessly to reveal Korfius sitting at the table. His head jerked toward the suddenly open door, he fumbled with something, then chewed vigorously. Crumbs speckled the table, the floor, and the laces at the neck of a shirt that fit him more like a dress.

  “Hello, Korfius,” Vernon boomed. “Up already?”

  Korfius replied with a muffled, “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “What did you say?” Vernon winked conspiratorially at Collins, who grinned. Korfius looked like a toddler caught with a hand in the cookie jar. As glad to have another friend as to discover a wink meant the same thing here as at home, Collins played along.

  Korfius swallowed, then cleared his throat. “Couldn’t sleep.” He looked up to reveal bits of food clinging to his face and a telltale smear of honey on his right cheek.

  “Hungry?” Vernon suggested.

  Korfius flushed, wiping his mouth with the back of a sleeve. He glanced at the table, realizin
g he was caught. “Very. I couldn’t wait. I’m sorry I took without asking.”

  Not wishing to embarrass the boy further, Collins added, “I could do with some food, too.”

  Korfius sprang from his chair. “At once, Your Majesty.” He scurried toward the trapdoor and nearly reached it before skidding to a horrified stop. He looked askance at Vernon, who laughed.

  “My home is your home,” Vernon said, still chuck-ling, “apparently.” He made a broad gesture. “Bring up the best you can find.”

  Without further encouragement, Korfius lifted the hatch and slid into the parlor. His footfalls echoed on the wooden stairs, growing gradually softer.

  Collins oriented as he watched the boy disappear. Clearly, the guards had looked for him and Korfius in the larder, and he had heard their voices as they descended the stairs. He tried to fathom why he had heard them there but not inside the cabin.

  As if reading Collins’ mind, Vernon explained. “It’s not normal to have hiding places, so sound travels oddly. You can hear and be heard by anyone on the parlor stairs but no other place as far as I know. If you have to hide again, though, I’d suggest you stay silent, just in case.”

  Collins shivered at the thought of cramming himself into that tight, seemingly airless space again. Nevertheless, he found it preferable to hanging. “You can count on it.”

  “You’d never believe how many times those fools have searched the dresser, leaving me a mess of clothes to pick up.” Vernon gestured at the irregularly stained, off-center chest of drawers. Clearly handmade, it occupied most of the eastern wall. “I stash all kinds of clothing in there; people give what they can. Those who can’t give wash or patch. You find anything your size, feel free to change. Dirties’ll get washed and go to someone else. Or you can get them back next time you drop in.”

  “I do appreciate your help and your kindness.” Collins continued to study the dresser, seeking some indication of the secret area he knew took up most of the space behind it. “And I hope I don’t offend you when I say that I hope I never have to receive it again.”

  Vernon turned, brows raised and mouth crinkled with amusement. “You’re welcome. And, yes, I understand.”