TWO
In the
world of Trylia, dusk began to fall. Sultry ribbons of cloud layered the
horizon above the province of Kaasitar, and the sun offered what rosy light it
had left before setting for the day. Rays trickled through the canopy of a
great forest of ranja trees, bathing the forest floor in a high-contrast mosaic
of sunlight and shadow.
In a dusty clearing, crouched behind a growth-covered ranja log, a young girl named Pa’Rin planned her attack.
“Ah…I see it now,” she whispered to imaginary soldiers. “He means to take us where we stand. But he is not as clever as we are! Let us see who truly has the power.”
Across the clearing, behind a large thicket of reiberry plants, her pet tralion Rymar shifted his weight from side to side in playful anticipation. This time, he represented the enemy regime. Usually Pa’Rin chose to have him play one of her own soldiers, reasoning that having a dragon-like beast of burden nearly three times her size would give her the upper hand. But, as it was only imaginary warfare, and no one but the two of them were playing, she felt it was more important to have a living being represent the enemy than playing foot soldier to her commander.
Pa’Rin was a beautiful young girl, with ear-length black hair and large brown eyes that looked at the world with inquisitive wonder. Her skin was a rich olive color, which differed somewhat from the shade of skin most Trylians had. Still, her appearance was not so different as to frighten the people of her world, but did make the occasional stranger take a moment to observe the difference.
She crawled slowly along the length of the log, keeping her head low. She reached a hole in the log that looked through to another one on the opposite side, allowing for a view of the clearing. The floor of the clearing was covered in meticulously constructed miniatures of soldiers and battleships, each made from twine and ranja bark with great care by Pa’Rin.
Rymar was not as intelligent as Pa’Rin, of course; he did not possess the ability of speech as did, say, the polar bears of Iorek Byrnison’s kingdom in Lyra’s world, but could understand the movements and vocal inflections of humans, as could apes or dogs from Will and Mary Malone’s world. He knew that he and Pa’Rin were playing a game, but he did not understand what the small objects in the clearing represented, nor what their importance to Pa’Rin was. He did understand, though, that this ritual was something Pa’Rin enjoyed, and, more importantly, was something she enjoyed doing with him.
Suddenly, Pa’Rin sprang up from her position of concealment.
“Death to Tosh the Third!” Her tiny voice carried through the trees with a youthful might. “Grevo M’Rais is coming for you!”
She pulled a miniature model of a tralion from a fold in her clothing. The model featured a series of tiny letters inscribed on its wooden back. She lobbed it over the log, sending it crashing into several of the small ships and taking out two dozen soldiers with it. She then hurled herself over the log, falling on her side, scrambling for a pile of stones a short distance away. She leapt behind them, once again taking cover from the make-believe nemesis in the reiberry plants.
“That was a diversion,” she whispered again to no one. “His forces are preparing to attack us from the front. The fools!”
Most children Pa’Rin’s age attended school and were learning about basic arithmetic or mastering their language skills. She, however, had been schooled by her parents, and had already learned much more than other children. She knew roughly how the economies of Trylia functioned, understood the methods used to produce an abundant harvest cycle, and had studied much of Trylia’s history and many of its major conflicts and heroes. The particular battle she was currently recreating, with the help of her beloved pet and squadrons of toy soldiers, was the greatest battle in Trylian history, the Battle of Lake Hyllaro.
It was at this battle that the Emperor Ry’vlir Tosh the Third, a despot who controlled most of the nations of ancient Trylia, fell to the rebel armies of the remaining nations in a massive battle between hundreds of armored sailing vessels. The emperor believed that Ves, the god most worshipped in that world, had chosen him to become Trylia’s new god, promising “divine rewards in the next realm” if they obeyed and worshipped him, and killing those who did not easily fall into line. Many Trylians wished to maintain their freedom to worship Ves (and nothing else) in their own ways.
Pa’Rin was currently playing the role of Grevo M’Rais, the great hero of the legendary battle. Statues of M’Rais stood in all nations of Trylia, and no fewer than three holidays had been named in his honor.
Rymar held still, waiting for Pa’Rin’s next move. In the original battle, Commander M’Rais had coordinated a clever diversion to render the enemy armada vulnerable. His forces sent a tralion to fly to the lead ship in Tosh the Third’s forward battalion — but not from the direction M’rais’ ships were positioned. The tralion, now revered as a symbol of cleverness in the name of goodwill by contemporary Trylians, had a message attached to its back. It was shot down in mid-flight by a large spear from the lead ship and fell to its death on the ship’s deck. The message read: “DEATH TO TOSH THE THIRD / LONG LIVE FREEDOM!” As the armada began to turn in the misleading direction the tralion had approached from, an unseen group of rebel ships sailed in from the northern side of the massive lake, taking Tosh the Third’s forces completely by surprise.
Rymar peered over the plants to see if he could catch a glimpse of Pa’Rin. He knew she was about to strike.
“Freedom from the North!”
Pa’Rin pressed forward and toppled the stones behind which she'd been hiding. In her hand was a crude wooden sword she’d fashioned for a ranja plank her father had given her. This was Rymar’s cue.
He trundled out of the bushes, making soft growling noises as he played his role. To anyone watching who did not understand the bond between the girl and the tralion, the scene would have appeared perilous.
In his teeth he held, as his weapon, a lilting, pathetic tree branch with many of its leaves still attached.
“The mighty Grevo M’Rais has arrived! Prepare to meet your end!”
Pa’Rin lunged lightly at Rymar with her wooden sword, kicking the soldiers and ships with both feet and sending them flying in myriad directions. (She didn’t mind if she broke them or not; she’d made several like them before, and would make several like them again.) Rymar shook his tremendous head back and forth, branch flailing in his mouth. Pa’Rin struck at the branch with the sword as she moved through a choreographed series of chopping motions. Rymar knew them well, obediently reacting with a litany of countermovements that Pa’Rin had trained him to perform. On occasion she would accidentally (lightly) strike him, but he paid no mind: his thick, rust-colored hide prevented any serious damage, and his love for the girl made up for any pain she could ever cause him.
At last, Pa’Rin came to the end of her sword routine, which Rymar took note of. He bowed his head and waited for Pa’Rin’s final action.
“Freedom for Trylia! Ves be with us!”
She started moving in slow motion, giving the scene’s finale its proper dramatic flair. She held the toy sword aloft and took a step toward Rymar’s lowered head. Her eyes were wide with heroic vigor, her mouth open with a silent roar of triumph.
She brought the sword down on Rymar’s muzzle with the gentlest touch she could manage. Rymar open his eyes widely and rolled them, mimicking the enemy’s face in the throes of death. At least that’s what Pa’Rin had taught him to do.
She drew the sword back and thrust it into a makeshift holster at her side. Rymar closed his eyes and rolled over onto his back, dropping the branch from his mouth, crushing the plants and unintentionally smearing himself with the reiberries’ thick brown juices, his tongue lolling from his toothy maw. Pa’Rin climbed onto his exposed belly and produced a flag from a holster on the other side of her waist. She waved it back and forth through the air while kneeling on Rymar’s stomach, which heaved rhythmically as he breathed.
“Long live the rebels! Long live the rebels!” Grevo M’Rais had saved the day once again.
Rymar opened his eyes and looked up at Pa’Rin. Their gazes met, and both froze exactly where they were. A second or two passed.
Pa’Rin threw down her flag, flopped down on her own belly, and tickled the tralion with playful abandon.
So it was with Pa’Rin. She had two parents that she loved deeply, and who loved her in return, but there was a special connection with Rymar, who was her only other friend in a world that feared and hunted her.
The light in the evening sky was beginning to fade. Pa’Rin and Rymar sat at the edge of a murky pond that lay over the hill from the clearing where the battle had taken place. The two were stained thoroughly with reiberry juice, a substance that can only be brought out of fabric with mud made from the ground indigenous to the reiberry plant itself. The pond was thankfully full of this mud, as Pa’Rin had discovered, and was covering her clothes in a healthy coat of it. Rymar watched curiously.
“Mud that cleans clothes,” Pa’Rin mused. “Surely a riddle I don’t know the answer to.”
Rymar had already cleaned himself off by swishing around in the deep of the pond. He dried himself off by rolling in a patch of long grass near the pond’s edge.
“It’s getting late, Ry,” noted Pa’Rin as she covered the last bit of berry-stained fabric. “We’ll be needing to go back soon…I hope Mother and Father will not be too angry…”
She took another good look at her clothes. “I’ll tell them…I’ll…well, I suppose I could say that…no, no, I won’t lie,” she said. She did not lie to her parents, and though she was certainly smart enough to conjure a convincing tale, the thought of doing so made her ashamed.
“I’ll tell them that you fell into the bushes…and I came to help you…and it rubbed off onto me! Yes. That is not a lie. I can say that. Let’s be sure next time not to play so close to the reiberries.” She patted Rymar on the snout. He grunted happily.
“Now, I must scrub it all off…shall I do it at home, or here?” Leaving now meant getting home on time, but it also meant returning with muddy clothes and a semi-truthful explanation for them.
“What to do, Rymar…what to do…I suppose I should finish now. I’ll work quickly. Yes, I can finish if you help me. Here, follow me.”
She walked into the pond until she was up to her knees in the brown, silt-filled water. She waved Rymar to follow her, and he did so without a moment’s thought. He stood next to her and knelt down, his wings tucked at his sides. She pushed one of the wings back to reveal his left flank.
“Now hold still. This will tickle, but I do not mean for us to play right now.” Though he didn’t understand the language, something in the way she spoke made him understand that her intent was serious.
She took off her shirt and plunged it into the water, soaking it thoroughly. She then pulled it from the pond and began scrubbing it against Rymar’s tough hide, using it like the surface of a washboard. Rymar dug his tough claws into the yielding bed of the pond. He twitched a little, but held still enough for her to complete the task.
“It’s working!” Pa’Rin exclaimed. “But you must hold still, Ry,” she instructed gently. “We do not have much time here.” She gave the shirt another minute of forceful scrubbing. After she was finished, she held the shirt in front of her, giving it a close inspection. Though the shirt was brown with traces of muddy water, the reiberry stains had been completely lifted. The water would evaporate shortly, and the dried mud would fall away, leaving the fabric no worse off than before.
She repeated the process with the rest of her clothing. Rymar sat perfectly still.
It was nearly nightfall. The light of day had almost completely faded from the trees, and the far-off glow of the lamps of her village could be seen through the forest’s lazy branches. Pa’Rin was nearly finished, and it was a good thing too, because Rymar could not bear any more of her scrubbing.
“Very good!” Pa’Rin praised. She hugged his left ear, making him grunt happily again. “It is time to go home, Ry. You will need to fly quickly.”
They stepped out of the pond. Pa’Rin began scanning the shore, looking this way and that with concern. “Where is my sword?” she said. “Rymar, have you seen my sword?” She knew he wouldn’t answer, but asked the question regardless. She simply couldn’t go home without her beloved wooden sword; it was the one toy she never let come to harm. She had taken great care in making the sword, using the tools from her father’s workshop, applying various inscriptions and phrases taken from the accounts of Trylian war heroes and liberators. She had never known these people outside of a lesson from her parents, but the stories captivated her imagination, and with few people in her life, there were as real to her as anything else. The toy sword, to her, represented far more than just an object used for playtime.
Finding the sword would take time, a commodity she had precious little of at the moment. Searching in the dark would be difficult, even with Rymar’s keen vision, and there was no way of knowing how long it would take to find it.
“We must look for it, Ry,” she said uncertainly. “It won’t take long. I just know it.” She and the tralion began retracing their steps as best they could
She knew that even if they had both left for home at that very moment they would still be back later than her parents had told her to. And this weighed heavily on the young girl. The thought of disobeying –- even worrying -- her parents, the people who had done so much for her and had risked their lives countless times to keep her safe…it was too much to bear.
From the time she was born, Pa’Rin was the source of much curiosity in her village. In the years following her birth, interest in Pa’Rin spread throughout Kaasitar, reaching the nearby city of Ranjaro, across Lake Hyllaro and into much of the nearby countries. Even as far away as the continents of Miritain and Jirasca, the people of many nations heard rumors of a child of mysterious origin.
The source of all of this was simple. The residents of her parents’ village knew that her mother, Leital, could not conceive a child. Neither she nor her father, Agran, could explain how a pregnancy could have occurred. At first, rumors of infidelity swept through the village. Such an offense was at one time punishable by death in many Trylian cultures; and though such sentences were no longer carried out in the more civilized regions of their world, the act of infidelity, even when only assumed and unproven, was considered highly objectionable and even a harbinger of ill tidings. Fortunately, friends closest to the married couple knew that such indiscretion would not be in Leital’s character. And they were right to think so, but the mystery persisted.
Strangers would occasionally visit the couple’s home, claiming to be high priests and other religious figures wishing to pass their blessings onto the child. Many were. But the couple was nothing if not intuitive, and could sense bad intentions where others could not. From then on, Agran and Leital had to be on their guard. They chose to school her themselves, and allowed only the dearest friends and relatives access to the child. It was a difficult choice for her parents, but they could think of nothing else.
At the age of two, the couple decided on a name for their daughter. (It was customary not to name one’s child until two years after their birth, as prescribed by many Trylian religious texts; Agran and Leital didn’t believe it was necessary to do so, but felt that following the practice might bring a measure of good luck to them and their daughter.) The two settled on a name taken from their words for blessing and unexpected: “pah” and “ar’rin,” respectively.
Agran and Leital had owned Rymar as a pet and work beast for years before Pa’Rin had been born, and were very careful to keep them apart for fear of injury to the young girl. The couple showed great affection to the tralion, who was also another being in their care that differed from its own kind. Most tralions had dark blue-green scales, while Rymar was covered in scales of beige and rust-red. His appearance was uncommon, but not rare. Still, Agran’s neighbors and fellow harvesters were leery of his animal, though for no good reason they could think of.
When Pa’Rin turned six years old, her parents arranged for a small party celebrating her birth, despite the danger of more “visitors” asking for a chance to see her. Ironically, the amount of seclusion her parents provided for her only aroused more suspicions of her true nature; she did not attend school for children her age, nor would she ever attend school in the future. Perhaps she is something to be feared went the thoughts of many.
A trusted group of well-wishers had been invited, and even then the party was not to be a large affair. They requested that the strongest male relatives stand guard at the front gate of their home, just to be safe. Despite their size and strength, the men were more than happy to be outside of the home rather than within.
Pa’Rin was in her room before the party, laying on her bed and gently kicking the wall. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to have a party anyway. Her parents never explained to her that there were people who feared her, but she sensed that they were keeping her from seeing other people and didn’t know exactly why. She had only met other children once or twice, and they were relatives of her parents. She thought there was something wrong with her, though she wasn’t quite sure.
Even at her age, she wanted to know the truth.
She had plenty of things in her room to keep her busy: books and maps and various educational toys, and plenty of materials with which she could make any work of art she wished. These things, these distractions…they were beginning to lose their power.
There were no windows in her room (for protection), though her father did fashion a way for the light of the sun to enter the room without anyone being able to see in or out: the ceiling contained a large square that housed an angled slat that reflected light from the home’s exterior. This way, he had hoped, she could enjoy a little of the outside world and still be free from harm.
The little girl poked her head out of her room and into the hallway. She could see into the entry room of the small home, and saw her mother laughing with a few other women she wasn’t sure she recognized. Or had she seen them before? She couldn’t remember.
She didn’t care whether she did or not. She only felt…trapped…or controlled…but her parents only had her best interests in mind. And yet…she had no intention of wanting to meet the people down the hall, the people that only her parents said she could be around. She wanted to meet people whom her parents hadn’t met first. She wanted to see places that her parents hadn’t already deemed safe for her to visit.
She wanted to do it now. And that meant leaving the house.
But only for a little while, she reasoned.
She had a thought.
First, she quietly closed the door. She braced it shut by wedging a writing board used for her studies in the thin space between the door and the floor. Next, she moved her bed to the center of the room, taking great care in not making too much noise. If she was discovered, she feared, her parents would make her even more of a secret.
Once she had the bed where she wanted it, she slid her tall clothes chest to the center of the room and braced it against the edge of the bed. The chest had several drawers in it, which she carefully removed one a time and stacked in the corner of the room. She went to the door and put her ear against it—she had to be sure no one could hear her activity.
She looked at the chest and bed for a moment, and tried to decide on the most secure position for the two objects. After a bit of consideration, she turned the chest so that the drawer openings were facing the bed. Now everything was in place.
She took a nervous breath…Am I bad for doing this? she thought. She had never in her young life attempted something as ambitious as this, as rebellious as this, but felt driven by the need to be…what was the word she was searching for…
Free! She wanted to be free, but she did not hate her parents for what they had done. On the contrary! She loved them as few children had ever loved their parents. But still, she had to have this one moment for herself. Even if her parents caught her, she rationalized, they’d understand her actions.
Pa’Rin couldn’t turn back now.
She gathered every bit of courage she had and climbed onto the bed. She put a tentative foot in the first of the drawer’s openings, testing the sturdiness of the improvised configuration. It seemed steady enough. She put another foot up, and still no movement. This was going to work. She continued to climb.
After what seemed like a short lifetime, Pa’Rin reached the top opening in the chest. Her tiny hands were slick with nervous perspiration. She wiped them onto her blouse and refocused her concentration.
She very slowly maneuvered herself onto the top of the chest and looked down. She had never been at this height in her room before. She held still for a moment, not breathing, intently listening for any sign of her parents or the others. After she was satisfied that she was safe, she reached her arms above her head and touched the ceiling. Directly over her was the vent through which the sunlight entered. It was getting late in the day, and the light had shifted considerably during the last few minutes. It would still be bright enough outside for her to see, but would only stay that way for a short time. She had to act quickly.
The size of the squarish vent was double that of Pa’Rin’s shoulder width. She gave the vent a push and found it to be resting loosely in a hole in the ceiling. Does Father know this is loose? She thought. Perhaps he did, assuming that no one would think to try entering through the roof. Or perhaps he had overlooked it, which would be unusual for such a thorough craftsman.
Maybe he left it loose on purpose! No, that would be ludicrous. Still, Pa’Rin found the possibility intriguing. Did he mean for her to find this some day? The answer to her question would have to wait.
She continued lifting until the vent was standing on edge, fastened to the ceiling by hinges on one side. She looked around in the space beyond the vent opening and discovered the home’s crawlspace. It occupied the area between the ceiling and the roof, and was filled with various tools and supplies her father had stored there. A shaft of light reflected into her eyes from a slanted mirror located a short distance ahead. She saw that the light originally entered through a thick-paned window just above the mirror. Of course! In through the window, off of the mirror, and through the slat in the vent! She was proud of her discovery.
But there was more discovering yet to do.
She grasped the edges of the hole tightly and pulled herself up into the crawlspace. There was enough room in which to move comfortably, and the light from the window made for plenty of visibility. Now all she had to do was open it.
Off to her right, she found a mallet and chiseling tool she’d seen her father use in his woodworking. She grabbed them and crouched close to the window. Delicately, she placed the tip of the chiseling tool in a crevice where the window met the edge of the roof opening it rested within. She tapped the end of the tool with the mallet. Nothing happened.
And then she heard something. Or rather, she thought she heard something. Maybe it was just her nerves toying with her. She hoped for as much.
A minute passed, and still, no noises from below. She continued. She would tap a few times, pause, and tap again. She made progress with each tap, and after another eternity of fierce concentration the window finally popped open.
The window was just big enough for her to shimmy through; any older, and her size would have prevented her from fitting through the opening. She sat on the roof, taking care to keep out of sight of the two men standing guard, and taking a long, cautious look at the world below. She certainly had a new perspective on her surroundings. And for the first time, she realized, she was outside by herself.
It was then that she heard the noises from within the home.
She thought she heard her mother, or one of the strange women, say something to the effect of “…should have been looked after more closely,” followed by upset anonymous male voices and the swift, muffled footfalls of those assisting in finding her. They’d be on the roof soon.
It wasn’t fair. She admitted that it wasn’t the perfect time to attempt something like this, but when exactly would be the best time, if there was such a time at all? It occurred to her then that some things in life needed to happen, even if it meant risking a great deal in the process. She hoped life would not be full of situations such as this.
She could hear the voices getting closer now. They were no doubt in her room, astonished at the structure she had fashioned to facilitate her escape. Trembling, she moved away from the window hole and toward the rear section of the house.
It was from that vantage point, while looking out into the high-fenced backyard area of her home, that she first laid eyes on Rymar. In fact, it was the first tralion she had ever seen anywhere, except in books.
She was terrified of what she saw.
Instinctively her feet started to move, but the roofing material was loose where she was standing. She lost her footing and landed on her backside, digging her nails into the material, clamoring to gain a solid hold of any kind. She was too petrified to scream for help.
She was so close to where the section of the roof sloped down into the yard that she started to slide. There was no way to stop this from happening. Her lungs found breath, and her mind found the will to scream. It was the loudest she’d screamed since her birth exactly six years ago to the day.
As Pa’Rin fell, her eyes remained fixed on the dangerous-looking creature in the yard. She could not tell how long all of this was taking. The sight of the beast filled her with fear, as did the falling, and neither fear was canceling the other one out. Fear took on a new meaning, achieving an unthinkable level in her inexperienced mind. She believed she was going to die, and all because she wanted to know more about the world outside her room.
She hit the ground forcefully, landing in a patch of soil softened into mud by runoff water from the roof. The impact knocked the wind out of her despite the cushioning of the blow. A moment later, she passed out.
Rymar had watched this entire scene unfold and hadn’t moved one bit. This was not due to indifference on the tralion’s part, though; he was frightened for the little human, and became frightened himself. And now she had fallen and wasn’t moving. He had to do something now, but his tralion brain couldn’t decide what that something should be.
He moved toward her slowly and cautiously. He knew humans could inflict great harm, and though he sensed this young human was in trouble, he didn’t know what she might be capable of if he did the wrong thing.
Rymar knelt in front of her limp body. He could hear the voices in the house, worried voices, and sensed he could be in trouble soon. But he couldn’t leave this young human here like this…he had to wake her up so she could be with her other humans. He knew how important it was to not be alone, even though he hadn’t spent much time with other creatures outside of working with Agran and other beasts in the fields.
He leaned closer to the child in the mud. His head spanned half the length of her body. He was, in comparison, the size of a large horse in Will Parry’s world, but was far stronger and much faster. If provoked, a tralion could easily dismember a creature, human or not, with a single blow from one of its robust wings, if it hadn’t already taken a sizable bite from said being first.
Rymar sniffed Pa’Rin. He found her aroma to be pleasant, not like the humans he worked with on a regular basis. The scents her mother had bathed her in felt wonderful to his nostrils. He felt calmed by her smell, and knew that she would do no harm to him.
He gently nudged her side with his massive snout to see if he could get her to stir at all. The process of sniffing and nudging was something he had always done with small game animals that he had hunted and devoured. For the first time, he was using this method to keep another being alive.
Pa’Rin didn’t move. Rymar could hear the voices moving through the home, moving out in different directions, all saying the same thing: “Pa’Rin!” “Where are you?” “Come back!” He had to make her be alive somehow.
He tried nudging her again with a little more force than the first attempt. Still she would not wake up. He was beginning to think she was dead…but she was still warm, and did not have the smell of death about her. What was wrong? He did not have the answer. He laid his head next to her body, as confused and disappointed as a beast of his intelligence could feel. If tralions could cry, his great eyes would have muddied the ground even further with tears. Instead, he made soft whimpering noises few tralions had ever uttered.
And then, as suddenly as she had slipped off the roof, Pa’Rin began to regain consciousness. She blinked groggily, her head swimming in an ocean of disorientation, seeing nothing but the evening sky and the emerging stars above her.
She heard an animal making noises nearby. That much was clear to her.
Pa’Rin closed her eyes again. She had no recollection of what had happened; was she dead? Had she been killed by the fall? Or by the beast in the yard? She listened closer to the noises...was that—whimpering? It sounded too soft to be the beast…some other sort of animal perhaps? Something smaller, she hoped. She didn’t want to see it, whatever it is. Now she just wanted to be found. She’d apologize for leaving the house, promise never to do it again, stay inside forever…
No. That wasn’t true. She didn’t want to stay inside forever. As afraid as she was, she would not let that influence how she felt about things. And she reminded herself of what she had realized only moments ago on the roof: life requires risk. Now she amended the statement with the word fear—risk and fear were important parts of life.
She knew she had to look over at the source of the noises. And she did.
What she saw did not terrify her, but did hold her rapt in stunned fascination: the beast, whom she was positive would tear her apart and devour her as soon as it had the chance, was making the soft noises. Its head was turned away from her, its massive rust-and-beige body shivering with sadness.
She wasn’t afraid of it anymore, but she wasn’t completely comfortable with it yet either. She sat up slowly, trying not to attract the beast’s attention. But as she moved her left hand to shift her weight, an air bubble within the muddy ground burst. Startled, Pa’Rin gave a little yelp.
The beast stopped shivering as he heard this. Pa’Rin, noting the beast’s awareness of her, became a statue.
Rymar craned his head toward Pa’Rin, keeping his eyes on the ground the entire time. He sensed that if she was indeed awake by some miracle, he did not want to frighten her by looking straight at her, as often happened when he’d looked into the faces of human children that worked alongside their parents in the fields.
Pa’Rin watched the tralion’s moment, wondering how long this could possibly take, feeling removed from herself, as if she were living out a moment in someone else’s life, not knowing what would happen next, and strangely lacking any sense of apprehension about the moment after this one.
Rymar could see out of the edge of his downcast vision that…yes! She was alive! The feeling of calm returned to his primitive mind; he knew that she would be reunited with her humans, and all things would return to how they had been before. He breathed more normally now, but continued to whimper out of sympathy for her troubles, and above all, to show her that she was now safe.
Pa’Rin stared at the beast’s massive head, and with every passing second, became aware, somehow, of what it was trying to do. And she did feel safe now, knowing that it had no intention of harming her. She almost began to feel silly for ever having thought of such a thing happening. Almost.
Rymar again laid his head down in the mud, mere inches from her leg. She felt his warm, dewy breath against her dirtied shins, listening carefully to his soft whimpering, marveling at how a sound that delicate and gentle could come from a creature of this sort. Pa’Rin felt the urge to…pet? Was that it? To pet the beast…a tralion, she thinks they were called. Was that what she wanted to do?
Yes. She wanted to pet this tralion.
Boldly, with an excitement she’d never felt before, she reached out her right hand and laid it on Rymar’s imposing snout. Much to her delight, he squinted his eyes with comfort and reassurance, and the whimpering stopped completely. They were both at peace.
Pa’Rin and Rymar had become friends.
They sat for a moment, discovering the joy they felt in each other’s company. They were too wrapped up in what they were doing to hear the voices of the people searching for her, the people who knew nothing about what had just taken place between Pa’Rin and her father’s beast of burden.
One distinct voice broke the serenity the two were sharing: it belonged to one of the strange women Pa’Rin had seen in the entryway.
“She could be back here…look back here, Agran!”
It won’t be long now, Pa’Rin thought, no longer worrying for her own welfare, or what her parents would do with her. Nor was Rymar worried any longer. He was pleased she would be back with her own kind.
The woman, a neighbor named Mallora, approached the gate to the backyard. The fence surrounding the yard was too tall to see over from the ground, and its boards were placed too closely together to see through from even close up. Mallora would have to open the gate and look inside.
Once she did, she let loose a shriek as neither of Pa’Rin or Rymar had ever heard, from any creature.
“Leital! Your child! She’s…she’s…oh, help us Ves, help us!”
Pa’Rin didn’t understand what the fuss was about. She’d found her, and she was fine, just in the backyard—
“The tralion’s got her! The tralion’s got her!”
Pa’Rin laughed to herself. Of course that’s what she thinks! But she realized that no one else knew that she was all right, and perhaps everyone else would think he’d done something to her. Perhaps, then, they would want to punish her new friend, or maybe even worse…
Pa’Rin stood up, slipping a bit in the mud but quickly getting her bearings. “No! You don’t understand! He wasn’t hurting me! He was just—,”
Her father Agran appeared behind Mallora in the gateway and saw how close Rymar was to his daughter. He was already in a state of panic, and he had just heard Mallora screaming that the tralion had her. He began shouting at Rymar.
“Back, Rymar! You get back! Away! Go on, now! Away!”
Rymar was confused. Why are they shouting? And at me? Or were they shouting at the girl too?
Pa’Rin calmly tried to interject. “Father, it’s all right. The tralion didn’t hurt me! Look, I’m unharmed! I just—,”
Her mother entered the yard and added to the screaming. Her father continued, undeterred.
“Rymar! Away! Get away from her!” He was holding what looked like some sort of spear…was he going to throw that at her new friend? And what had he just called this tralion…Rymar? So that was her new friend’s name. But she wasn’t thinking of that fact for very long. She was too focused on her father. She had never seen him like this before, so defensive and seemingly capable of violence. She understood that he was only being protective, and somewhere within her she appreciated that. But at the moment, all she wanted was to keep her new friend safe from her overreacting father. So she did something drastic.
She jumped in front of Rymar.
Her father stood in amazement. What was Pa’Rin doing? Did she know anything about what these beasts are capable of? Had she forgotten everything he and Leital had taught her?
Leital clung to her husband, swooning with helplessness and praying for her daughter. The men who had been entrusted to guarding the house now entered the yard, collectively gasping at what the others were already looking at.
“Pa’Rin, move away from Rymar. Very slowly.”
She looked into her father’s eyes.
“No,” she said. “He won’t hurt me. He’s my friend.”
Her father stared back at her with confused shock. Friends? How in Ves’ name could she have gotten into a situation like this after only being gone for just a few minutes? He felt a great shame wash over him, as if he had failed somehow in all the work he and his wife had done in trying to keep her safe. And now, he was certain, it would all end here, in the backyard, with this tralion.
Pa’Rin could see the uncertainty in the eyes of the adults. She had to do something to prove to them that no harm would come to her from the beast.
And before she’d thought to do it, she hugged Rymar around his scaly neck. Rymar liked this very much. Even he had the hope that this might help the humans to see what was going on.
Her parents were at a loss for what to do. Mallora was terrified and speechless, clinging to the gate and trying to keep from fainting. One of the two men, named Treyos, had an idea. He tapped Agran’s shoulder gently and got his attention. The other man, Viroon, approached as well.
“We could try to move in slowly with the spear,” he whispered. “You could lead, and distract the beast and the girl.”
“And then we could strike,” whispered the other man, named Viroon. “I too have a weapon. You know our skill, Agran. We can help.”
Agran heard what they had said, but was fighting off a swarm of confusing imagery and actions that he was already barely able to grasp. He forced himself to drop the focus from his daughter for a moment, and thought through what would need to happen: he’d move toward Pa’Rin and Rymar, they would hang back, and at the right moment, either Treyos or Viroon would strike Rymar down, preferably between the eyes. It would mean killing the best work animal he’d ever owned, and he was quite fond of him, but even the slightest chance that an animal of this size and power might harm a single hair on his daughter’s head…it wasn’t worth the risk. He’d made up his mind.
Agran gently pushed his wife off of him and handed the spear to Treyos. He stepped forward, forcing calmness into his voice, realizing that his daughter’s life depended on it.
“Pa’Rin, I’m sorry. I won’t…”
He paused. No, he wouldn’t be lying if he said what he was about to say.
“I won’t hurt Rymar. I promise.” No matter what happened in the next few moments, he did not want Pa’Rin to remember that he had lied to her, not even now.
Pa’Rin wasn’t sure yet. Who were those men? And there was still the business of her escaping from the house a short while ago.
“Are you angry with me, Father? For leaving the house?”
He was a bit upset, but as she correctly assumed, he understood why she’d done what she’d done.
“No, Pa’Rin. I am just worried for your safety. You know there are people who want to treat you badly. We just want you to be safe. We’ve always wanted that. You know that, don’t you?”
Pa’Rin began to cry. She felt awful for what she’d done. She didn’t regret the discoveries she’d made, nor the friendship she had just begun, but she felt a great sadness at betraying the efforts her parents had made for her.
“I’m so sorry, Father. I’m sorry, Mother. I love you both.”
Her mother was crying as well. She reached for Mallora and clung to her arm.
“We love you too, dear Pa’Rin,” her mother said. “It is alright.”
While Pa’Rin was talking with her parents, Treyos and Viroon were imperceptibly moving into position. Treyos still held the spear, while Viroon stealthily withdrew a long knife that had been neatly tucked into his vest. Agran was very close to Pa’Rin now, who clung to Rymar’s neck even tighter.
It occurred to Agran that whomever was going to strike Rymar would have to do so without accidentally striking him from behind—or, for that matter, accidentally striking Pa’Rin. He’d known the two men for many years, and knew them to be excellent long-distance hunters, using a variety of sharp-bladed weapons for their sport and striking their prey with heralded accuracy. And in this moment, he couldn’t bring himself to completely trust them. He knew there was no way to stop the men from throwing; all they were waiting for was the signal to do so.
“Now,” Agran rasped.
Everything happened in slow motion for Pa’Rin. She saw the man with the spear lunge forward and shove his father out of the way. The other man swung his arm around and was holding a very large knife. Her father tripped as he was being pushed and landed facedown in the mud. She saw her mother screaming, reaching out for both her father and herself. The man with the spear threw it down and tried to move her mother and the other woman out of the way. The man with the knife continued swinging his arm forward…he was going to throw it at Rymar! Or me? Was he aiming at me? Had this man tricked my father and mother into coming to the party and trying to kill me? The fear of dying at the hands of an intruder, the very sort of person her parents had struggled for six years to keep her away from…the fear of death overwhelmed her. She could think of nothing else.
No sooner than the thought had entered her mind, Pa’Rin and Rymar vanished into another world.
It was suddenly dark to Pa’Rin.
Had she died? Yes. She must have died. Though…
If she were dead, why was Rymar still being held tightly by her arms? Was he dead too?
She gradually released her grip on the confused tralion. He wasn’t sure what happened either. Was it night already? Night never fall that quickly; he knew that for certain.
Pa’Rin could only think to call to her parents.
“Mother? Father? Where are you? Where…where am I?” Her cries echoed in the blackness.
Echoes? Wherever she was, there were walls.
“Hello?” Again, the echoing. She was reasonably sure she wasn’t dead, though she had no idea what death would be like. Maybe there were echoes wherever you went when you died.
She noticed that there was no answer from anywhere, except the reflection of her own pleading calls. And then, she felt something at her feet.
Rocks.
Were there rocks in the place you go when you die too? She was beginning to dismiss the theory of death altogether. She was more curious about learning what this place was; she’d figure out how she got there later on.
She reached down tentatively with a shaky hand, the other firmly pressed against the tralion’s side for stability. She grasped in the dark and felt…yes, those felt like rocks certainly. And what else was that she felt? Was it…moss? Was there moss on the ground? She hoped it was moss, and not something sinister that only felt mosslike. But no movement or sound came from anywhere, and no danger seemed to be lurking nearby, so moss it was. She grabbed a piece of it and put it in a fold in her blouse.
Pa’Rin knew she could not stay in this one position forever. She was still extremely puzzled by her current situation. She was less afraid than she was a moment ago, and her fear was turning to determined curiosity. She didn’t necessarily want to be in this place, but she knew she had to figure out where she was if she ever wanted to go home.
And she remembered something she’d been taught by her parents: Tralions have remarkable vision, and are capable of seeing very clearly even in total darkness. What was this Rymar seeing, she wondered? She wasn’t sure how to communicate with the tralion, or if she would ever be able to, but she knew she had to make the attempt.
“Rymar,” she said, testing to see if he would respond to the name her father had called him. And he turned his head toward her obediently.
“We’re going to move forward now,” she gently commanded. “We need to see where we are.” She knew he couldn’t understand what she had just said, but felt the need to say it anyway. She figured if he saw something he found frightening or perhaps simply blocking their way that he would react in kind, and she would adjust their direction of movement accordingly.
She took a step forward while keeping a guiding hand on the back of his neck. He stepped forward with her, sensing that she wanted him to follow along. They took ten steps or so, with no sign of hesitation from the tralion at her side. Perhaps an escape was just ahead.
They took another ten steps, then another, until the two of them were walking without stopping at intervals. If I am not dead, she thought, then what place is it that is so large and yet so very dark? She hoped the answer would come soon.
Suddenly, Rymar stopped. Pa’Rin halted in her tracks as well, trying to sense what it was the tralion could possibly be looking at. He didn’t seemed frightened, simply curious.
The tralion began walking without Pa’Rin leading him. He definitely saw something ahead…but what was it? All she could do was try to keep up.
After a minute or so, Pa’Rin could see a long, faint vertical sliver of light in front of her. She couldn’t judge its distance, but she didn’t care if it was a full day’s walk to the light. She knew she had to get there. Rymar continued excitedly, but never moved so fast as to leave the little girl behind in the darkness.
A few more minutes had passed, and the sliver had grown in both size and brightness. She sensed that she was approaching the opening of some sort…was she in a cave? Is this the way out? The two continued on.
At last, she was close enough to the light to determine its exact nature: it appeared that it was some sort of opening leading out of a cavern. The opening had only been visible as a sliver of light because of the extreme angle they had viewed it from; the mouth of the cave must turn abruptly. No cave she had ever learned about was shaped in such a way. Very curious.
Pa’Rin was elated by the prospect of seeing again. “Did you know it was an opening all along, Rymar?” The tralion grunted softly. She took it as a yes.
They were not yet close enough to see beyond the edges of the cavern mouth; all Pa’Rin could make out was the texture of the rock that lined the interior. They still had a few hundred steps to go.
At last they reached the opening and looked outside.
Below them lay a sprawling canyon reaching out for miles in either direction. The mouth of the cavern was an opening in one of the canyon walls, hundreds of feet above the canyon bottom. It was late afternoon in this world; the sky was a solid purple, with no clouds. The canyon was a kaleidoscope of rocks and growths of different colors—deep rich reds, pearlescent veins of exotic minerals, granite-like materials glittering in the sun. Pa’Rin was taken aback by the beauty she saw.
Creeping along much of the rock of the canyon were long stretches of mosslike growth, hanging over ledges and shimmying up into crevices and other cavern openings. No breeze was blowing, but the climate was warm and inviting.
Perhaps I have died, Pa’Rin reconsidered. If it were so, she did not mind.
Rymar gazed at the new landscape, unsure of what to make of it. He closed his eyes and breathed in the air of the new world. He found it to be sweet and soothing, not unlike the scents Pa’Rin wore.
As taken as she was by the gorgeous surroundings, she knew she still had to determine what this place was. Part of Trylia? Somewhere in Kaasitar? Surely not; she’d learned much of the geography and the history of the formation of the continents of her world, and no region, not even those near the equator, had this combination or arid desert topography and lush vegetation. How was it possible?
She looked to both sides and could find no way down from the opening in the cave. The wall of the canyon was too steep to climb down, and she didn’t like the idea of going back into the cavern in search of another way that lead from her present location.
She had another thought: Could I climb on Rymar’s back…and could he fly us away from here? A tralion requires training to grow accustomed to a rider, and even one that is well-trained needs to be outfitted with some manner of saddle and reins to ensure a safe and controlled ride. Pa’Rin and Rymar had neither. But she didn’t know what else to do. Something told her, though, that he would allow her to attempt this, and that he would make sure she didn’t fall off.
“Rymar,” she said affectionately. “I want to try to fly to the top of the other side of the canyon. I want to ride there on your back.” She pointed to the opposite edge as she said this, and he could tell what she was suggesting. He too wanted to explore this world, and not wanting to leave his small friend stranded at the mouth the cave, knelt down and allowed her to mount him.
She had a bit of trouble getting onto him at first, but she was able to steady herself by grabbing the part of his wings that met his back. She pressed herself against him, anticipating the flight across the canyon, realizing that her grip on Rymar would be the only thing keeping her from falling to the distant canyon floor.
“Alright, Rymar,” she instructed. “Let’s go.”
Rymar himself was a little unsure of what would happen; he’d only ever carried cargo for her father to and from other villages, and though she was nowhere near as heavy as anything he’d hauled, he’d never carried a living being before, and certainly not one that he cared a great deal about. He knew he had to be cautious.
He stepped back from the edge and squared up his feet. She wrapped her arms around his great neck, clasping her hands together for safety. Rymar began flapping his great leathery wings, stirring up the dust at the opening of the cavern.
Moments later, they were hovering within the opening. It was now time to go forward.
The two swooped down from the cavern along an invisible slide. Pa’Rin’s heart beat madly with exhilaration. Only a short while ago she was in her room, fretting over the party her parents were arranging for her. Now, she was on the back of a mighty winged beast, a creature who was now her friend, flying through the vast sky of a beautiful nowhere.
She looked down into the cavern below. She could see the floor was covered with an endless expanse of the mosslike growth. No river, she wondered. She’d learned how canyons were formed in her world: over vast spans of time, by the erosion of river water. Perhaps it had dried up long ago.
Rymar was only a quarter of the distance across the width of the canyon, but he wasn’t showing any signs of fatigue. He was enjoying the flight, beating his wings with a sense of freedom he had never felt before. He was not sure he wanted to ever return to the world he came from. And if he ever did, he wanted to be with the young girl.
Pa’Rin continued to peer into the gaping depths of the canyon, drawn in by its fertile magnificence. It was terribly fascinating. If she ever returned to her world, she would have to tell her parents all about it. The young girl’s fascination was so great, in fact, that she hadn’t even noticed that she was beginning to lose her grip.
Rymar could feel her beginning to slip, but did not have time to adjust himself to counter her loss of stability. Pa’Rin continued to stare, her mind filled with questions and trying with all her might to answer them.
And then she fell.
For a split second, she did not even realize what was happening; after all, the events of the last hour or so seemed like that of a dream—why should this be any different? But her body knew she was falling for real, and the truth of this sensation snapped her senses back to frightening reality. She reached out for Rymar.
The tralion wasted no time in trying to save her. He went into a steep dive, quickly plunging farther and faster into the canyon than Pa’Rin was. He wanted to try matching her speed, allowing her to land gently on his back. He changed direction and began to ascend. She was now falling toward Rymar.
But she was falling too fast, and Rymar couldn’t slow down. She knew she would simply bounce off of Rymar—or worse, hurt him, rendering him incapable of flight and the ability to keep her from falling. Once again, fear had control of her.
This time, though, the fear approached levels exponentially greater than those during the incident on the roof. Somewhere within her mind, she knew she would likely have survived falling into the yard, and was only unsure about the intentions of that unknown beast who was watching her. Now, though, she knew with certainty that this fall would do the job. The thought of Rymar dying intensified her dread.
He tried to maneuver out of the way, but was not quick enough. Unthinkingly, she reached out for his right wing, fighting the urge to drag him down with her but desperate to find something to hold on to. She wanted so badly to be back in her world; she didn’t care where in Trylia, just…anywhere—
No. She wanted to be home.
A second later, she and Rymar were back in Trylia, back in Kaasitar, back in the yard of her home.
Pa’Rin and Rymar were both breathing heavily, taking in the scenery that seemed so familiar and yet so very unexpected. Had they dreamed everything? Or was this still a dream?
Pa’Rin looked around. No one was in the yard. She noticed that she and the tralion weren’t in the exact location of their earlier departure. They were closer to the gate now, and were facing the side of the fence against which they were earlier huddled. Jutting out of one of the fence boards was Viroon’s knife.
Pa’Rin’s heart skipped a bit. It must have been real! She had to be sure.
She reached into her blouse, feeling for the item she had pocketed earlier. Sure enough, her fingers felt the soft, giving texture of the mosslike growth she had first picked up in the cave.
That evening, after Pa’Rin returned to the house and everyone had left (her parents told them to leave immediately upon her return), she told her parents everything that had taken place. She told them about her escape, falling off of the roof, her introduction to Rymar, the darkness of the cavern, the impossible beauty of the canyon world, and her terrifying last few moments there. Most parents would not believe such a story, but her parents had seen her and the great beast vanish before their eyes. And she also had the mosslike growth. Nothing quite like it could be found in Trylia. Her parents took her at her word.
They taught her a word she’d never heard before: psi’vali, or “the air of life.” They told her she was endowed with much psi’vali, which, in her world, is believed to be the unseen force that maintains all life, and is strong with those who have much good in their hearts and make the world a better place. In Lyra’s world, it is called Dust.
Their belief in what she had told them went beyond the evidence. Agran and Leital had always known their daughter had abilities greater than those of the inhabitants of their world. They weren’t sure what to make of the world with the canyon, for it sounded nothing like the mythical lands of Trylian lore and religion. Her father surmised that it was some sort of haven she could travel to, one that she could use to bring herself or anyone else to (since Rymar had been in contact with her both times she had traveled). Her mother proposed that it was the fear of harm and death that had triggered her departure and return. They did not know when she might again travel to the “Havenworld,” as her father called it, but took comfort in the notion that it existed and provided a sanctuary for her while any threat to her in Trylia passed into harmlessness. But what else she was capable of, or whether she could consciously control this new ability, her parents could not venture any better guesses. The couple saw this ability as a blessing to their daughter, and felt it was something that made her their own special gift in life.
Her parents also made note of her new friendship with the tralion. She told them that it was him that saved her life, and over the course of the next few days proved to them, through a series of warily-observed tricks she had taught to Rymar, that he was completely at ease with the child.
“Look at them, Agran,” her mother pointed out one evening as their daughter and Rymar played in the back yard. “She finally has a friend to call her own. The life we’ve made for her has afforded her so few of them.” Her father still couldn’t completely shake that first image of the tralion hunched behind his tiny daughter, but the evidence of the bond between them was impossible to deny. The weeks passed, and she and her new friend developed all manner of games and activities. Her imagination soared like never before, and the receptive tralion was pleased to be with such an affectionate being. For a time, peace was restored to the lives of the small family.
It was unfortunate, then, that Agran and Leital were not the only ones to have witnessed the vanishing of the girl and the tralion.
A few days after the party, the woman Mallora met with Treyos and Viroon, discussing what they believed they’d seen. They knew for certain that she and the tralion had returned safely; they’d stayed at the home for a while longer that evening and were present when she returned to the house. The three of them told others, who told others, who told countless more. And the rumors of the girl reemerged, fueled by first-hand accounts of three respectable residents of Kaasitar Province.
Soon, the original rumors, which were relatively vague and innocuous by comparison, were inflamed by the concept that this child could vanish and reappear at will. Several correctly speculated she could travel between worlds, but without the evidence of this world (the moss Pa’Rin had kept with her), it remained speculation and nothing more. People began referring to her as “the tralion girl,” “the Abomination,” or worst of all, “the kaam’da,” which meant “the ruin of all things.” Her parents shielded her from such talk, but she knew the incident in the back yard was being spoken of far and wide.
Pa’Rin had now returned to the clearing where the mock battle had been fought. I must have dropped it here, she hoped. Rymar knew the scent of the toy sword and helped her search.
The tralion returned to the reiberry bushes that he had earlier demolished. Pa’Rin knew that he’d found the sword, but it had been mashed into the berries and the leaves. Unfortunately, the mud Pa’Rin had used earlier could not remove the juice stains from ranjawood.
Pa’Rin sighed wearily. “We’ll have to leave here, Ry. We’ll tell Father…that it was damaged accidentally. He will understand.”
She had just made up her mind, when she heard terrified screams coming from the direction of her home. Her face turned ghostly pale.
Rymar instinctively crouched into a defensive position, ready to attack, take off, or both if necessary. Pa’Rin hopped aboard his back, and without saying a word the two headed for home as fast has his wings could carry them.
Pa’Rin knew what was happening. She began sobbing uncontrollably as she clung to Rymar.
They came for me. They came for me and I wasn’t able to stop them, she thought. She didn’t know what she could have done to help…could she have taken her parents to the Havenworld? Of course she could have!
I was careless. I should have been home already.
She heard the cries again. She didn’t know how much longer her parents had.