Books Of Barakhai - The Lost Dragons Of Barakhai Part 6

"No." The second one glanced at the two arms, brow scrunched, obviously thinking deeply. Collins recalled holding his breath, wondering what a guileless preschooler might blurt out when it came to a child of a different race. "Shelby's black," she finally said. "We're brown."

And, Collins realized now with an adult biologist's perspective, the girl was right. The racial differences that seemed so important to some people came down to little more than the quant.i.ty ofmelanin in their skin. All humans, except albinos like Zylas, were some shade of brown. Human hair, too, varied only in the amount and intensity of its brownness, which was why so many elderly men appeared to have smeared shoe polish on their heads when they tried to recapture the "black" of their youths.

Falima's long tresses, however, defied the rule: true, deep, animal in their blackness. It was only one of several exoticisms that might make her seem freakish in his world, that made her consider herself unattractive in her own. Too animal, she had once told him, too much overlap between her horse appearance and her human one.

The timing of Falima's change also made her less desirable to the men of Barakhai, as daytime humanity was considered superior. The conventions seemed arbitrary to Collins, who found her beauty nontraditional yet definitive. He enjoyed her solid, sinewy curves, though they did not resemble the gaunt perceived perfection of American models. Her unaugmented b.r.e.a.s.t.s, though not huge, complemented her figure; and the width of her hips and boy-roundness of her b.u.t.tocks might turn away the men of his world. Collins found her attractive despite the flaws she noticed in herself, and even the unnaturally golden skin added an interesting touch to an already extraordinary appearance.

Falima's voice broke the reverie. "You've got that look again."

"The one where I stare at you and look... hungry?"

Falima nodded. "Yes. That one."

Collins wondered if she still worried that he wanted to eat her. He had tried to convince her that no one in his part of the world consumed horsemeat and that he never wanted to try it. "Can't help it. You're beautiful."

Falima looked away demurely. "I don't believe you, but I like when you say it."

"Believe it," Collins said, meeting and holding her gaze. Her eyes glimmered like sapphires in the dawn light, the windows to a soul equally charming. He knew he and Zylas could not leave for another six hours; Prinivere needed the albino's man-face on which to cast her illusion. He also realized that, if they planned to attend the castle's midday meal, they could not have touched down far from the palace. It was an enormous risk, but a necessary one. If they waited, Falima would have become a horse, difficult or impossible for Prinivere to carry. Everything they did had to revolve around switch times, and Collins realized again how inconvenient that became and how much power it granted full-time humans like Barakhai's royalty. And me.

Falima took Collins' hands. "Be careful," she whispered.

The interaction had grown too intense for Collins, who resorted, as usual, to humor. "Careful? Naah.

Far more interesting to dive in there, battle-screaming, guns blasting, and go down in a blaze of glory."

Falima blinked slowly. "I-I didn't get everything you just said, but it sounds dangerous. Foolish."

Falima's hands felt warm and st.u.r.dy. Collins laughed. "Tome, too." He stroked his chin in a mockery of thought. "So I guess I'll go with your way. Careful, wasn't it?"

"Be careful," Falima repeated emphatically. She leaned forward and kissed him.

Surprised, Collins could do nothing but stand there, enjoying the moist, spongy softness of her lips against his. Then, before he could move, before he could even think, she vanished into the cave, leaving him with the lingering taste of sweet clover and a smile creasing his face.

Collins sat on a rocky outcropping and looked out over the forest. The sun turned fiery, intensifying the colors of autumn. Not long ago, he would not have needed to ponder the significance of a beautiful woman's kiss. It meant good luck and, if things went awry, good-bye. He had another year and some months under his belt: his scrawny little bespectacled self transformed to a more average height and weight, his gla.s.ses more stylish, his dark hair cut to a proper length rather than the s.h.a.ggy disarray hislack of time and cash usually left it in. He dared to hope Falima's kiss meant something more.

The thought practically banished itself. What am I thinking? If I brought her back to Algary, she'd be a full-time horse. Miserable. And what kind of a relationship could we have? The mere contemplation of it struck Collins as silly, and he rolled his eyes at his own attempts to create an attraction where, surely, none existed. We're friends, nothing more. And it's perfectly normal to kiss a friend about to go off on a life-threatening mission. Finally, he headed into the cave with the others.

Korfius greeted Collins with a bark and excited prancing. He patted the dog, then, remembering the biscuits, pulled off his pack. He rummaged through it blindly, fingers gliding over toiletries and blundering into the towel. He identified shapes by feel: the mini tape recorder, the Snickers bars, his mag light. His groping fingers stopped there a moment, and he closed his eyes with a grimace of self-deprecation. Many of the conveniences he had packed relied on whatever stale batteries they contained, and he had no fresh ones. Had he planned to stay in Barakhai longer than a few hours, he might have searched for extras, though he rarely kept spares in his room. He relished the two-minute walk to the student union even on the coldest nights, and batteries tended to get lost or ruined in the junk drawer.

Finally, Collins found the dog biscuits. He worked his fingers into the hole in the plastic and emerged triumphantly with one. Antic.i.p.ating the command, Korfius sat, tail waving with excitement.

Collins gave the biscuit to the dog, who accepted it with a groan of grat.i.tude, then slid down to a comfortable position to eat it. Korfius had switched at 7:00 p.m. by Collins' watch, instead of his usual 8:00 P.m. Falima had ascribed that to the long time he had spent in dog form and his lesariat mindset.

Collins saw it as proof that the boy preferred his dog form and found solace in the boy's happiness and desire to stay in Collins' world.

Collins glanced around the cave for Falima. The buckskin horse lay on a flat area of the cave on top of her shed clothing. She snuffled at a vein of moss lining a crack in the cave wall hut made no attempt to eat it. Aisa perched on a crag, head turned backward and tucked against her wing. Zylas lay beside Prinivere, his rat form shockingly tiny beside the hulking ma.s.s of greenish black that took up most of the back of the cave. Ijidan had remained behind, his job to guard and supply the hideaway in the mountains.

Prinivere's voice touched Collins' mind. *Come get some sleep before, your trip.* Though she chose a neutral word for a possible suicide mission, the emotion in her sending made her concern obvious.

Collins nodded, feeling a bit jet-lagged by the time difference. He searched for a comfortable spot, doubting he could sleep on the uneven stone floor.

*Over by me,* Prinivere suggested. *Use my leg as a pillow.* She raised a foreclaw, then replaced it on the ground.

Collins hesitated. It seemed almost dishonorable, as if his comfort was more important to him than Prinivere's.

*It's all right.* The dragon glanced at the white rat snuggled against her. *If I'd let a dirty old rat do it, why not you?*

Apparently aware of the conversation, Zylas jerked up his head. "Hey!" He sounded more amused than affronted, but Collins flinched. In Barakhai, vermin actually had the intelligence to understand their low station. The law even forbade their mating to create Regular offspring. Few wanted more rats or mice in Barakhai, and even snakes and frogs were considered vermin. Since everyone ate insects here, reptiles and amphibians did not serve the grand purpose they did in Collins' world.

"I don't think she meant any offense about you being a rat and all," Collins said with a wink and a grin to show he was joking. "She just meant you stink."

"Oh, fine," Zylas squeaked. "That's much better." He circled, seeking a more comfortable position."At least my fur adds some warmth. I'm small enough to scratch any itch." He added mischievously, "And, by the way, compared to you I smell like roses."

Collins muttered, "Dead roses, maybe. Steeped in pickle juice and fox urine."

"What?" Zylas said, with the innocent air of one who did not hear rather than the indignant tone of one who had.

Suddenly Collins wished he had kept his mouth shut, especially as the musky, allspice aroma of the dragon covered all other smells like a deodorant. The lab rats always smelled like cedar chips, and he had never found Zylas particularly malodorous. ''Nothing. Forget it."

*He said,* Prinivere started, and Collins cringed, shaking his head vigorously in a silent plea for her to stop, *that either one of you smells better than any royal guard. You'll have to roll in rotting skunk weed just to pa.s.s.*

Thanks. Collins concentrated on the word, certain she understood.

*Now both of you get some sleep. You'll need your wits about you.*

Collins' humor turned self-deprecating, You're a.s.suming I have any. He snuggled against the dragon and found that her foot made an excellent pillow and she did give off body heat, which surprised him.

They're thinking dinosaurs might have been warm-blooded now, and they were egg layers. Why not a dragon?

*A lot of lives are relying on those wits of yours,* Prinivere restored the significance of Collins'

mission. *And believe me, you do have them, even if our world doesn't always make sense to you.*

It seemed redundant to respond to someone who could read his every thought, so Collins concentrated on sleep instead. He did not need to vocalize his appreciation for the dragon's trust, wisdom, and support. If she found goodness and reason in him, it had to be there. If she believed he had what it took to succeed, he surely must. Though she claimed only to read the superficial, she seemed capable of digging deeper into his mind and psyche than he could himself.

Despite excitement and worry, Collins drifted off to sleep.

Collins awakened to a gentle mental nudge moments before a rat dropped unceremoniously onto his chest. He opened his lids and looked cross-eyed at the small white-furred creature.

"Excellent," Zylas squeaked. "As recently as yesterday, you'd have jumped to the moon if I'd done that."

I'd have jumped to Mars this time, if Prinivere hadn't warned me. Collins smiled and accepted the compliment. Zylas did not have to know the little secret he shared with the rat/man's lady. He glanced at his watch, which read 11:28 a.m.

Aisa perched on a boulder, in human form, watching the interaction. "If he'd jumped to the moon, you'd have fallen off somewhere in between." She turned Zylas a steep-led-eyebrow look. "If you know he's a mite... jumpy, don't you think you should be more careful?"

Collins sat up, dumping Zylas into his lap.

"Probably," the rat admitted, clambering to Collins' thigh. "I'm just thinking it's better to accustom him to surprises. The king's guards won't tiptoe gently around him."

"True." Aisa tucked a knee between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and turned her steely gaze to Collins. "But if they leap on him while he's sleeping, they deserve what they get." She shook back her thick golden locks, and they fell right back into place. He liked the style on her, flattering to dainty features that gave no hint of the huge, black beak that adorned her face in her other form. Besides the rich yellow hair that perfectlymatched her chest feathers in parrot form and the pale eyes, the only remnant of her other form that Collins noticed was darkly rimmed lids. It appeared as if she applied eyeliner, a product he doubted existed in this primitive society; and it reminded him of the miniature black feathers that striped the otherwise bare skin patches on each macaw cheek.

Collins looked around for Falima, but didn't spot her. Most likely, she had left the cave to graze, dangerous but necessary. He hoped she would maintain enough overlap to hide if she saw someone approaching.

Zylas explained. "I'd like to get started as soon as possible. I figured we could get you ready now."

He sprang from Collins' leg and scrabbled to a pile of clothing on the floor. "These should fit you."

Collins followed the rat, then hefted a plain gray shift, leggings, and a faded red cloak. "Great. A dress." He glared at Zylas. "If we survive this, remind me to kill you."

Zylas paced out a circle around where the clothes had lain. "Good idea. Threaten the guy your life depends on." A grin stretched the ratty lips wide.

Collins shivered. "Don't do that. Rat smiles look positively evil." He studied the rough homespun in his hands and hoped it would not itch. He turned his gaze on Aisa, waiting for her to politely excuse herself, but she did not take the hint. Remembering that the Barakhains were used to seeing one another naked twice per day, he resigned himself to the fact that he would get no privacy.

Turning his hack, Collins stripped off his running shoes, his socks, then his jeans, suddenly wishing he had left on his sleeping boxers. Wondering how the Barakhains survived without underwear, he jammed a foot into the leggings, rushing to get the whole thing finished as soon as possible.

Zylas interrupted, "You might not want to wear-"

Snarling, Collins twisted to face his companions.

"You'll get my underwear when you pry it off my cold, dead legs."

A shocked silence followed, while Collins returned his attention to wrestling with the leggings. The fabric felt like burlap against his flesh and pinched his toes.

Zylas cleared his throat. "I was just going to say 'you might not want to wear those backward.'"

Collins stopped fighting and looked at his feet. Now, he noticed the fabric bunching at his heels and understood why his toes felt so squashed. "Oh," he said sheepishly.

Aisa added with a hint of disdain, "Though you probably shouldn't bare yourself in front of anyone wearing your... precious underwear either."

Collins replied quietly, "No, I guess I shouldn't."

Zylas finally took the hint. "Come on. We're making him nervous. I think he'll do better if we leave him alone for a bit."

Obligingly, Aisa hopped down from the boulder, and Collins watched her walk away. Removing the leggings, he turned them and tried again. This time, they fit much better. He pulled the shift over his head, smoothing out wrinkles with his hands, then added the cloak. He spun, feeling the breeze of the fabric billowing away from knees and thighs, and felt like an utter fool. Suddenly, going stark naked in front of strange women did not seem so bad in comparison.

*You look lovely.*

Prinivere's a.s.sessment startled Collins, who had considered himself alone when Aisa and Zylas left.

"Thanks, I think."

Zylas skittered up to the dragon's shoulder to examine his companion. "Good. Except Orna b.u.t.tonsher cloak."

Collins looked down his front, only then noticing the three cloth b.u.t.tons on his chest. He fastened the lowest one, then the one above it, and finally the last.

Zylas shook his head, his little pink ears quivering. "Undo the first one."

Collins' hand drifted to the upper b.u.t.ton.

"No, the first one. On the bottom."

Collins shifted his hand obediently, though the gesture felt as strange as his new clothing. He usually left the top b.u.t.ton or two open when he deigned to wear a dress shirt, but he had never heard of anyone leaving the bottom one undone. He unclasped the b.u.t.ton, and Zylas nodded approvingly. "Now you look like Orna."

Collins tossed back the cloak. "I feel like Little Red Riding Hood."

"Who?"

"Forget it."

Zylas leaned toward Collins, still studying him. "I'm just saying that's how Orna wears it."

"It?" Collins repeated. "You mean this exact cloak?"

"One of her favorites," Zylas proclaimed proudly. "Swiped it yesterday."

"You did?" Collins could not believe Zylas had slipped away without him knowing.

"Not me, personally," Zylas admitted. "One of ours, though."

Collins nodded, appreciating the renegades' competence. His life might rely on it.

*My turn,* Prinivere announced. *Come here, Ben.*

Though it went against every survival instinct, Collins approached the dragon. The dim light from the cave mouth seemed to swathe her in a gently glowing blanket. Ancient scars marred the green-black scales, some small as splinters, others large as craters. She reached a claw toward him, nails chipped and broken.

Collins lowered his head, but the dragon's ma.s.sive foot closed over his face. The lowest toe tilted his chin upward, and he met the slitted green gaze with trepidation. He felt as if he were falling deep into those vibrant eyes, spiraling into a dense mora.s.s of age and wisdom, from outer weakness to inner strength. His face p.r.i.c.kled and grew icy cold. It felt like his features were withering and melting like putty beneath the confines of her scaled, wrinkled claw. Then, within a few moments, she removed her toes from his face and turned her head toward Zylas, still perched on her shoulder. *How's that look?*

Zylas examined Collins, twisting his furry head from one side to the other. He smiled that frightening, ratty smile. "Perfect."

Collins' face felt numb and tingly, though he dared not touch it for fear of damaging the magic.

*It's all right,* Prinivere sent. *You can touch it, but it won't feel any different to you. It's an illusion.*

Cautiously, Collins ran a finger down his nose. It did seem the same, though the pressure on his face gave his flesh that pins and needle sensation he got when trying to bring feeling back into his hand after it had "gone to sleep."

Apparently having heard the same words as Collins, Zylas nodded. "Best not to touch it much, though. You'll have a tendency to look as if you're poking through your face or in your eye, and we don't know if too much handling might shorten the spell."Collins lowered his hands, simultaneously curious and trepidatious, wanting to know what he looked like yet not sure he could stand the sight of his face. "So... I'm Orna."

"You look like Orna," Zylas confirmed, picking his way down Prinivere's foreleg. "And it's almost my turn."

Collins glanced at his arm, only then remembering he had left his watch and gla.s.ses with his regular clothing. They would definitely reveal the deception. Instead, he retreated to the corner that held his backpack, willing himself into character. He was a twenty-seven-year-old female guard with an att.i.tude, gruff yet taciturn, and more than capable of speaking her mind to the detriment of those around her.

Though entirely unlike him, he appreciated the role. This way, he could mostly keep his mouth shut.

Under his breath, he practiced the voice Zylas had taught him and hoped he did it well enough to pa.s.s, should speaking become necessary.

While waiting for Zylas' switch, Collins opened his backpack and examined the contents for anything that might prove useful without revealing who he was. Unless he developed a headache or heartburn, he saw no need to risk discovery of the medicines. He would have loved a bath with soap and shampoo, a liberal application of deodorant, and a good toothbrushing; but those scents might attract undue attention.

The illusion made a close razor shave unnecessary on his face, and he knew the Barakhain women left their legs and armpits natural. He was not a hairy man. He slipped his mult.i.tool into a shift pocket. It might come in handy, and he believed he could keep it safely hidden. He balanced the lump with his mag light and one of the packs of matches in the opposite pocket, then ran his hands along his clothing. He could feel the items, but they did not leave obvious bulges. No one ought to be touching him, and an accidental brush would not reveal the nature of the objects he carried. It seemed safe enough.