Books of Barakhai - The Beasts of BarakhaiCollins spoke slowly, watching Falima's reaction as he spoke each word. "Cows."
Falima winced but continued looking at him encouragingly.
"Pigs, chickens, turkey, and fish."
"Fish aren't animals."
"They are where I come from."
"Oh."
An uncomfortable pause followed.
"What else?" Falima finally said.
"That takes care of about 99.9% of all the meat eaten in the United States." Collins knew he had to mention rabbits for her to believe him. "The rest is what we call game, which you would call durithrin or wildones. Rabbits, deer, ducks, geese. A few people do bear, squirrel, turtles, possum, snakes, stuff like that. But most people wouldn't consider those animals savory or, in many cases, even edible." He recalled the time one of the international students had brought a tomato-based stew to a potluck that everyone ate with relish, until a rumor circulated that the meat they had sucked down with gusto moments before was actually cat. The ladle never again dipped into that bowl.
"Not horses."
"Not horses." Collins confirmed.
Falima fell silent again, fingers clasping and unclasping on the tabletop.
"This is really creepy for you, isn't it?"
"Not-not really. I mean, I knew-" Falima finally met Collins' gaze. "It's just that sometimes, when you look at me-" A flush crept up her neck. "You look so ... so ... hungry."
"Hungry?"
"Right after I change back." Falima rolled her stare to her hands, pinning one with the other. "I don't notice when I'm in switch-form. "It's like you want to ... to devour me."
Now Collins understood and appreciated that Falima did not meet his eyes. I do. Just not the way you're thinking. "That's not hunger, Falima. That's ..." Words failed him completely.Now, Falima looked directly at him.
"Well . . ." The word came, but Collins hesitated to use it. ". . . l.u.s.t."
Falima's expression did not change for several moments, then her brows fell in clear confusion.
"What?"
This time, Collins looked away, index finger tracing a stain on the tabletop. "I'm sorry. I do know it's rude to stare at your body, but it's so ... so beautiful." And I don't get to see naked women very often.
He had seen Marlys, of course, but only twice. Most men of his time would consider her the prettier of the two: slight, red-haired, high-cheeked, full-lipped and well versed in enhancement with makeup. Yet, for reasons he could not yet elucidate, Falima seemed much more exciting.
Falima's mouth clamped to a severe line. "That's the second time you've called me beautiful."
"You are."
"I'm not."
It was an unwinnable argument, so Collins sidestepped it. "You are to me. Why don't you think so?"
Falima studied Collins, as if trying to read the intention behind an obvious scheme. "I'm a Random.
I'm muscled like a horse, without a woman's proper softness. My colors match my switch-form better than my human form, which is manifested at night."
Collins felt a grin edging onto his lips and stopped it. "None of those things matter to me."
"They don't?" "Why would they?"
Falima had no ready answer. "Because . . . because-"
"Because nothing." Collins took Falima's hands and allowed the smile to glide across his face. "You know what I see?"
Falima shook her head.
"I see an athletic woman with eyes like sparkling sapphires." Collins suppressed a wince at his own triteness and wished he had paid more attention in the poetry cla.s.s he had taken to fulfill his English credits. "A perfect tan. Hair midnight black and as sleek and wild as the sea. Beautiful." He pinned the smile in place. "And a creamy buckskin horse any breeder might envy."
"You do?"
"I do."
"Thank you."
Collins' grin slipped. "No need for thanks. I was simply describing what I see."
"But your words make me feel good."
"I'm glad."
They smiled at one another, and joy suffused Collins. His heart skipped, then quickened. Excitement tingled through his chest in a way he could not recall since his first crush on Betty Lou Finnegan in junior high and, prior to that, not since childhood.
Korfius yipped, breaking the mood. His legs twitched rhythmically, kicking Collins' shin.
Collins slid his feet free, rolling the dog onto his back. Korfius awakened briefly, whacked his tail on the boards, and resumed snoring.
Collins hated to even raise the issue when things were going better than he could ever have imagined, but it needed saying. "About Joetha." An image of his own grandmother came to his mind: her gray-and-white hair falling in curls to just above her shoulders, her small stout form smelling of peppers and cookies, the welcoming smile she had always given him, surrounded by the familiar wrinkles that had come to define unconditional love. She had died two years ago, of natural causes, and he missed her. He forced himself to contemplate some savage serial murderer stabbing her to death, cannibalizing the body.
The picture proved too much. Horror dragged through him like a hot knife, and he dropped his head, sobbing, into his hands.
Collins did not hear Falima move, but her warm body enfolded him and her hands stroked his hair like a child's. She rocked him gently as he wept, his tears plastering the rude fabric of her dress against her solid curves. "I'm sorry," he gasped out. "I'm sorry." He wanted to say more, but grief would not allow it.
I killed someone's mother, someone's grandmother. I killed her, and I callously ate her.
Collins did not know how long he cried into Falima's arms. But, when he finally regained control, hisface bore the indentations of every thick fiber. She looked as if she had spilled a gla.s.s of water down her bodice, rumpled and pinch-faced.
"It's all right," she finally said.
"It's not." Collins shook his head. "It never will be."
Falima could not deny those words. Collins would have to learn to live with the guilt or go insane.
"A bad thing happened." Falima lowered herself to her haunches. "But the cause was mistake, not malice. Zylas has forgiven you, and so have I. At some point, you have to forgive yourself."
"Joetha's family-"
"-can never forgive you, of course." Falima asked cautiously, "Can you live with that?"
Collins had been about to say "-will suffer," so Falima's question caught him off-guard. He considered. "Yes," he realized to his own surprise. "I can."
Falima rose and returned to her chair. "Then it's settled. We don't need to speak of this again."
Collins liked the way she had phrased it, a.s.suaging his shame but leaving the subject open if he ever felt the emotional need to talk about it. It was a talent he had not known she possessed, and it only made her more desirable.
Collins awakened with a start that left him disoriented to place and time, yet burdened with a decisive thought that usurped all other need for understanding. My friends: Zylas, Falima, Vernon, even Ialin, are good people, better than I could ever be. He tried to imagine himself risking his life and freedom for a murderer on death row, but the image refused to form. He would not do so, even if he knew the man innocent, let alone guilty only from ignorance. He would, of course, come forward to testify; but he would not hazard electrocution by cutting power lines to the electric chair.
Collins opened his eyes. He lay on the pallet in Vernon's cottage, straw poking him through the threadbare blanket, a bundled tunic serving as a makeshift pillow. Falima curled on the floor, snagging the four hours of sleep she required in human form. He would have preferred to give her the more comfortable sleeping place, but maintaining the illusion of his royalty took precedence until they left Korfius in Vernon's care. He saw no sign of Korfius or their host.
As Collins rolled to his right side to face the wall, he found his feet pinned in place. He jerked at the covers, dislodging the dog, who groaned and clambered from the pallet. Freed, Collins finished his intended movement and snuggled back into the straw. He could understand Zylas' a.s.sistance. The rat/man might feel responsible for leading Collins into Barakhai and, therefore, the subsequent crime.
Vernon clearly made a career out of helping the needy, so perhaps he got some personal satisfaction from hiding Collins. Falima's and Ialin's motivations escaped him completely. No wonder they're hostile.
Zylas must have talked them into it, perhaps against their better judgment.
Knowing he needed his sleep, Collins forced these thoughts from his mind. He could speculate about their motivations all day and never come near the truth. It was an exercise in futility that he could better solve by simply asking. Hard enough understanding people of my own world. Collins pushed his mind to less intrusive thoughts and, eventually, found sleep again.
The next time Benton Collins awakened, he heard low voices. He sat up, the blanket tumbling to his ankles. Zylas leaned across the table, talking softly to Vernon. They made an odd pair, one slight and white as cream, the other powerfully muscled and dark as untouched coffee. Though taught to revile eavesdropping, he strained to overhear. His companions had left him out of conversations about his own welfare so many times that he somehow felt owed the knowledge.
Korfius floundered from beneath the blanket that now covered his head. He flopped to the floor, the cloth fumbling after him in an awkward twist.
The men at the table looked toward them. Zylas said something louder, accompanied by a friendly wave.
Only then, Collins realized his moments of straining could have gained him nothing. Without touching the stone, he could not understand a word of the Barakhain they exchanged. He thrust his hand into the pocket that held the rose quartz, withdrawing it. "You're back," he finally said."I am," Zylas admitted. His gaze wandered to the translation stone, and his grin widened. "Thanks for taking such good care of my rock."
Collins returned the grin. "It was nothing," he said honestly. "I really appreciate your leaving it. I couldn't have done anything without it."
Zylas nodded. Collins certainly did not have to explain the merits of the magic to its longtime owner.
"So," Collins pressed for the important news immediately. "Is there another portal?"
Zylas glanced at Vernon, who shrugged, then gave his head a slight shake. The rat/man's attention returned to Collins. "Not . . . yet. But . . ."
Collins waited for his companion to continue. When he did not, Collins made an impatient gesture.
"But. . . ?"
Zylas pursed his lips, then spoke quickly, as if he had to force the words out before he changed his mind. "The elder wishes to meet with you."
Uncertain how to react, Collins asked cautiously, "He does? Why?"
Zylas opened his mouth, then closed it without speaking. He gave Vernon another meaningful look, but the black man turned away, arms folded across his chest. Clearly on his own now, Zylas said lamely, "It's not a simple matter. The elder . . . can explain it better."
"All . . . right." Collins looked from companion to companion, but neither returned his stare. "What do I need to know before I agree to this?" Silence.
Irritated with his companions' behavior, Collins demanded, "You said my going would be dangerous to the elder and to myself. Don't I have a right to know why before I'm smack dab in the middle of that danger?"
Vernon said gruffly, "It's not you we're worried about." Zylas placed a hand on Vernon's shoulder, an obvious plea to let him handle it. "It'll become clear, but Vernon's right. So long as you don't do anything foolish or mean ..." Like eat some innocent woman? Collins thought bitterly. ". . . you're perfectly safe.
The elder . . ." Zylas flicked strands of dirty white-blond hair from his eyes. "... has more at stake. We just want to protect-"
Vernon jumped in again. "-the elder." "Right," Zylas confirmed.
Korfius thrust his nose into Collins' hand. He patted the dog absently, still focused on his oddly behaving friends. "I'm not going to hurt anyone, if that's what you're jazzed up about."
Collins wondered how that translated, but Zylas and Vernon showed no sign of confusion. "I didn't mean to kill Joetha," he said for what seemed like the thousandth time. "It was an awful thing for which I'll feel eternally guilty, but can't we ever-"
Zylas and Vernon made broad motions to silence Collins. "We know that," the albino a.s.sured. "We don't have to talk about that anymore."
Vernon stood, nostrils flaring in clear distress. "It's just that you come with . . . certain dangers."
Understanding dawned, dispelling the irritation. "You mean the guards chasing me."
Zylas vigorously nodded confirmation, but Vernon did not let the matter drop. "We don't know you well enough to be sure-"
"Vernon," Zylas warned, but it did not stop his friend.
"-you can keep your mouth shut."
Collins felt the p.r.i.c.kle of returning irritation but forced it away. Vernon had a reasonable point. "I owe you all my life at least two times over. I'm not going to give away any secret."
Zylas rolled his gaze to Vernon, who did not seem satisfied. "Can you bind that as a vow?"
Collins blinked, tightening his grip on the translation stone, which didn't seem to be fully functioning.
"What?"
Vernon rephrased his question. "Do you have some sanctified words, some gesture, that binds important promises beyond breaking?"
Now Collins understood. Nothing in my world is so sacred someone can't and won't abandon it.
That answer, he knew, would not satisfy Vernon. He would not break his word because he considered himself an honorable and moral person. Nevertheless, a white lie seemed worth it to appease Vernon.
"We have both." He cleared his throat, a.s.suming the most serious expression he could. "I swear to G.o.d .. ."It did not sound like enough, so he added, "with sugar on top, that I will ..." He looked at Vernon questioningly.
Catching the intention of the pause, Vernon supplied the next words, "... not divulge the name, location, or even the existence of the elder to anyone ever, no matter what good reason I think I may have for doing so."
"Uh." Collins had no trouble agreeing to the terms, but he could not recall all the words Vernon had used. "I will not . . . uh . . . divulge . . . uh . . . the elder forever no matter what." Mouthful of mostly long words to express the obvious. He'd have made a good lawyer. Collins spit on his right hand.
"Now we shake on it."