Bridger ducked into the tunnel.
Cantor cupped his hand to his mouth. “Psst.”
Bridger paused.
Cantor debated only a moment. An extra measure of caution would be prudent. He placed a general hedge around himself and the dragon, hoping the less complicated maneuver would not alert an enemy of their presence. “Be sure to measure accurately. I’m beginning to think you shift to a smaller size without realizing what you’re doing.”
“I am always aware of what I’m doing.”
Cantor snorted but said nothing. Bridger didn’t readily acknowledge the blunders he made, but Cantor had many anecdotes of the dragon’s fumbling from their travels. Still, Cantor liked him enough to not want to humiliate him.
In spite of the difficulty discerning which tunnel was filled with echoes and which might lead to the talking people, they pushed onward, at times stooping or crawling, at others walking upright through long and twisting stone corridors.
Bridger stopped abruptly as he reached a turn in the tunnel ahead. Cantor barreled into him, tripping over his tail and landing in a tight spot between the dragon’s hind leg and the stone wall.
Without seeming to notice Cantor’s predicament, Bridger whispered over his shoulder, “They’re in the next chamber. The walls are lined with bookshelves.”
“The library? We’ve found it?” Cantor eased back, removing himself from his uncomfortable position. “Can you see the people?”
“No . . . Yes!” Bridger’s lips stretched into a grin, his sharp teeth creating a bizarre picture of gruesome gladness. He jumped forward, out of the tunnel. “Dukmee! Bixby!”
Cantor’s heart expanded, and a smile forced its way to his mouth. Bixby! He hadn’t seen the little realm walker for two years. The smile fell away as quickly as it had appeared. Why was Bixby traveling with Dukmee?
OLD FRIENDS
He heard nothing from the mage Dukmee, but Bixby’s cry of delight spurred him through the last section of the tunnel. Following the dragon into the spacious library, Cantor found his friend the same as she had been: tiny, disheveled, fluttery, and beautiful. He quickly made a point of studying his surroundings rather than allowing his gaze to remain too long on the girl.
Glow-orbs studded the room’s high ceiling, and cascades of powerful miniature lights decorated the walls from ceiling to floor at intervals around the room. Massive bookshelves lined the outer walls of the room, and freestanding counterparts stood in a haphazard formation around the center. Unlike many of the libraries he and Bridger had delved into, this collection showed no particular dedication to order. Few shelves contained neatly aligned books side by side. Stacks and fallen piles plus small statues and metal twisted into odd sculptures, stuffed every possible ledge. Two massive tables with a dozen wooden chairs dominated one side of the room. Dukmee and Bixby stood there with scrolls, maps, and ledgers spread out before them.
Cantor’s eyes skidded over Bixby. She stood too close to the mage. He looked away, studying the spacious room. So this was the ancient Library of Lyme. Here they would find answers to the questions about the renegade planes, the most important being a precise date the trouble would begin. Cantor peered closely at the shelves and alcoves. Where was the orrery?
Bixby’s lilting voice interrupted his perusal of the ancient library.
“Bridger, who have you brought with you? Introduce your new friend.”
“New friend?” Puzzlement creased the dragon’s forehead. “Not new. This is my constant, still Cantor D’Ahma. You didn’t think I would forsake him, Bixby? I never would.”
Countering the sincerity in the dragon’s voice, Cantor laughed. His chortle, deep in his throat, sounded like a frog in a well. No, Bridger would not desert him even when Cantor wanted him to.
Bixby’s eyes widened. “Cantor?”
He saw the astonishment on her face and tried not to turn red with embarrassment. He knew she found the change in him disturbing. He wasn’t comfortable with this outlandish growth spurt either — not that he would admit it.
Assuming an air of nonchalance, he grinned as he advanced over the smoothed rock floor. “It’s me. Two years older than the last time we were together.”
“In my parents’ palace.” Her eyes searched his face, no doubt looking for the lanky adolescent she’d known. Her head was nodding. A tiny rush of pleasure gushed through him. Good. She hadn’t forgotten.
He looked at her whitish-blonde hair. The feather-light, lustrous mop topped her small frame like dandelion fuzz. Her outrageous outfit included a dozen layered skirts and dresses, ruffles, lace, and elaborate embroidery, all in shades of brewed tea. “You look just the same.”
She laughed, the rippling sound floating around the cave, passing through tunnels and coming back on itself in merry echoes. “Is that my cue to say, ‘Well, that can’t be said of you’?” She grabbed his wrists in her tiny hands and gave them a shake. Hitching her head back to look up at him, she flashed him a smile, and her eyes twinkled. “What happened to you?”
“I grew.”
“Cantor.” Bridger motioned him to come to where the dragon stood with the mage. “They’re looking for the same information we are. And they found the or — thingamabobby.”
Dukmee reached out to clasp arms with Cantor in the traditional greeting of realm walkers. Two years ago, Cantor had been a head shorter than Dukmee. But now the long, lean healer-scholar-realm walker-mage looked up at Cantor.
Dukmee grinned. “I’ve heard a lot about your exploits.”
Bixby hurried to a position beside the two men. She peered up at them, impatience at being left out clear on her face. “I haven’t heard anything. What exploits?”
Cantor broke the grasp with Dukmee and turned a little to include her. “Nothing much. Bridger and I have been looking for Ahma and Odem. We’ve made meticulous searches and discreet inquiries in every realm on every plane in our planeary system. And we failed.” He heaved a sigh. “And now your parents have assigned us with the task of finding —” He gestured with an open hand. “What you have already found. Which reminds me . . . your father sends a reprimand. He wants you to send in reports. And your mother complains that she doesn’t hear from you. Letters, lots of letters, are her request.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I do forget.” Bixby gave her head a shake, sending her white-blonde curls into a frenzy. Her expression changed from annoyance to compassion. She reached up to touch Cantor’s arm. “I can’t imagine the loss of ones so dear.”
He liked the feel of her small, comforting hand. But when he looked in her eyes, he saw emotion, and he didn’t want to deal with emotion just now. Nevertheless, he felt the frustration rise at his own failures, not to mention the feelings of inadequacy and loneliness he’d cooped up in the same unwanted burden box. Ahma would have counseled him to throw the thing out. Sometimes it was difficult to trash a concept. Cleaning stable stalls was harder on the back, but easier than clearing negative thoughts from the mind.
Frowning, he shook off her hand and took a step back. Dwelling on his failure wasted time and distracted from this mission. He would not let Bixby lure him into such a quagmire.
Bridger lifted his head from examining an old, faded map on discolored parchment. “We still believe Ahma and Odem are alive. We haven’t looked for them inside any mountains.” He waved his arm around, indicating the cavern. “I bet there are lots of these little hidey-holes around in places we’ve already been.”
A tiny spark of hope flickered in Cantor’s heart. “Once we figure out this mess with the renegade planes, we’ll look into it.”
“Literally.” Bridger grinned.
Dukmee laughed, then his face turned somber. “What rumors brought you here?”
All at once the weight of the Lyme prediction fell onto Cantor’s heart. As long as no Library of Lyme was found, he could believe that the doomsayers had no ground on which to stand. Now that he was in the very library he’d hoped did not exist, he had to give credence to th
e rest of the tales.
Reluctantly he related how they’d been lured into investigating the Lyme phenomenon. “Bixby’s father related a string of unsettling happenings. Old folklore has been reborn. The Lyme Wars were a legend from an era so long ago that they were mostly forgotten. But men of dubious backgrounds began mumbling about the day approaching when the path of Lyme Major and Lyme Minor would once again intersect our orbit. At first I thought it was some council plot to demoralize the populace.”
Bridger perked his ears. “Considering the source of the rumors, that was an understandable conclusion. The council may not be the same as it was, but we’ve seen evidence that it still promotes discord.”
Cantor nodded his agreement. Every once in a while, Bridger sounded like a dragon raised in a proper home, which he was. Proper in that he and his sister were educated, primed with cultural advantages, and expected to become worthwhile citizens. Other times he sounded like he’d missed the point of all that quality background.
Cantor brought his thoughts back to his story. “Then more reliable storytellers began reciting obscure tales of the Lyme Wars. Of course, charlatans latched on to the growing rumor. To them, it was another opportunity to make money. Charm makers, soothsayers, and dealers of amulets sprang up in the marketplaces.”
He studied Dukmee, glad to have the mage on his side. “With all this perplexing activity, it seemed a good idea to verify some of the rumors as true or false. Hard evidence gives us a better foundation for making decisions.”
Cantor let his gaze wander around the room, taking in the many volumes of books and shelves filled with scrolls. “What have you found?”
Dukmee crossed his arms in front of him, hiding each hand in the opposite sleeve. “Enough to convince me that there are two planes circling our sun in an orbit that brings them into contact with us in a set number of years.”
“Centuries,” interjected Bixby.
Dukmee nodded. “Yes, great lengths of time, long enough for the event to fade in the memory of our people. That’s why Bixby’s father charged us with this search. We’ve been at it longer than you have, but we haven’t been here more than a week.”
He paused and let Bixby take over. “This library was designed to record details for future generations. According to these writings, the intersection of our path with that of the two Lyme planes is never fun.”
Cantor clenched his jaw. “So now we know that the Lyme planes exist, but do we know the time of the interpass?”
Dukmee sighed. “Three or four months. Probably sooner.”
ORRERIES
Bixby stood in the arch that separated the library from the next room and gestured to her friends. “Come into the Orrery Chamber.”
Bridger and Cantor — she still had trouble believing that giant was Cantor — moved to join her, but Dukmee’s nose was already in another dusty book, and he stayed behind. Bixby didn’t mind at all. When Dukmee led a discussion, she didn’t feel comfortable interrupting. She might be superior in social standing, but his experience and knowledge humbled her. Still, not being able to say what was on the tip of her tongue irked her to no end. When he was with her, she only spoke when he gave her an opening.
She welcomed the arrival of the two realm walkers. Dukmee had been in his scholar mode and not much company. Plus, the prospect of meeting hostile aliens made her nervous, and Cantor and Bridger were warriors in addition to being realm walkers. And to top all that, the sight of them dispelled her fear that the council had taken her friends as prisoners. After all, she hadn’t heard anything from them in two years.
Her father had reassured her that he, as king, would have knowledge of any arrest, but Bixby had firsthand experience with the council. Her instincts told her that her mother and father were not as well informed as they believed.
She stepped back from the arch as her two friends approached. She wanted to see their faces the first time they saw the Orrery Chamber. All by itself, the big model in the middle was most impressive. And it was not all by itself.
Both Bridger and Cantor fulfilled her expectations. Their mouths dropped open, and their eyes widened with wonderment. They stood inside the door with their heads moving slowly as they took it all in. The room clicked and hummed as the models moved in tiny increments.
Jesha trotted through the arch and began exploring in and out of the scattered orreries. Bixby wondered if the cat would be enticed to pounce on one of the many moving parts. Some of the instruments were fragile. With a glance at Bridger, it occurred to her that perhaps she should also worry about the dragon’s tail. He’d been known to sweep surfaces clean with a single, sudden movement.
“Bridger.” She spoke hesitantly. “Be sure Jesha doesn’t take a swat at the orreries.”
Cantor jumped in before she continued. “And take notice of your tail as well. A swat from Jesha might do some damage. Your tail could take out the whole room.”
“Not so!” The dragon’s face showed outrage, but after a moment it shifted to serious. “I suppose it could. I’ll take care.”
The largest orrery stood on the floor. Its arms and orbs and disks gleamed with different colored shiny metals, most of which she could name. Silver, gold, brass, copper, and tin were common. But there was one with a pink tinge she didn’t recognize. Dukmee probably knew, but she never remembered to ask him.
Along the wall, smaller orreries made of different materials demonstrated a wide variety of complexity. Fancier models boasted precious metals and gems. Some wooden mockups portrayed the same dynamics but in a simpler form.
Cantor asked the first question. “What energy keeps them moving?”
Bixby guided them to one of the simpler models. “Some respond to a cranking device. This one has a key similar to those used to wind up mechanical toys.”
“But others are moving on their own, with no key,” observed Cantor.
Bridger approached a model hanging from the ceiling and gently touched a part with his claw. “And nothing could be wound up centuries ago and still be running.”
“Right.” Bixby motioned for them to follow her to the other side of the room. “Dukmee hasn’t determined exactly how it all works, but he’s sure that this is responsible for the energy.”
She pointed to a round hole in the ceiling. A stream of sunlight shone down on an apparatus in front of them. A wide metal semicircle half surrounded a ceramic orb. The sunbeam hit the metal. As the day progressed, the light would travel around the center on the band of metal.
Cantor held his hands, palms downward, about six inches above the device. “There are a lot of wards around this thing. Some for defense, some for obscuring the mechanics of how it works.”
“Exactly. Dukmee decided it was more important to seek the information we need about the Lymens rather than discern how the creators constructed this.” She nodded at the intriguing device.
Bridger had his back to them, examining the biggest orrery in the middle of the room. “Bixby, can you show us how this works?”
“Yes, but let’s use a smaller one.” Bixby giggled. “I need to be able to reach the planes.”
They moved to a glass and metal orrery no taller than Bixby. The different colored disks corresponded to planes. Burnished brass rods held them in position and rotated them in synchronization to the real objects in their solar system.
“You see, the globe in the center is our sun. Right in front of us we have the stack of planes in our system. These don’t have any geological markings but they are scale model in size to the real thing.” Raised letters on each disk named the plane it represented. “Over here we have the trio planets of Nedian, Narr, and Nosco. Notice they are plump in the middle, not flat like our planes. And they have an additional pattern of movement, rotating within their solar orbit. And out here are Dander and Canady.”
Bridger huffed. “Where are Lyme Minor and Lyme Major? I thought the whole point of these orreries was to be able to plot the course of the rogue planes.”
; “They aren’t in this model, but I wanted you to see the normal pattern before we introduce the renegades.”
She put a finger on the bottom plane in their stack and pushed it along its course. “Now it’s ahead of where it is today. See how the other planes and even the sun have moved more quickly and kept up with the one I pushed? They are still in the correct position, in line with all the other parts.”
Bridger had a silly grin on his face. He pointed at the model with obvious pleasure. “So, if our planes are here, then the trio would be there.”
Cantor scowled. “How does it get back to where it should be today and at this minute?”
Bixby shrugged. “I don’t know. But if you leave it alone, it rewinds or something. In a couple of hours, it will be right on course.”
“Fascinating.” Bridger put a claw out, then paused. “May I move it some?”
“Go ahead,” Bixby said.
They spent a quarter hour moving different orreries, using the keys to energize the simpler models.
Bridger liked the ones he could crank. He spent a great deal of time turning the handles. “These are coordinated with the present position of the planes, aren’t they?”
“No.” Bixby pointed to the larger models. “With the wind-up models, you can line one plane up with how it is in one of the perpetual orreries. Then for the length of time your turning of the key provides, you will have accurate rotations.”
“I agree with Bridger,” Cantor said. “Fascinating. But what about the rogue planes?”
Bixby nodded. “Over here.”
She led them to a more complex model. “Here’s our stack, and here are the Lymes. They’ve been painted red. I’ll speed up the orrery, and you can watch the planes interpass.”
She pushed a button on the frame. As she held it down, the planes moved along their orbits at a greater speed. Tracking the red rogue planes as they approached their planeary system proved easy but unsettling. For a moment, the Lymes appeared to be on a collision course. In the end, they slipped between the inhabited stacked planes.