Chapter Six

Over the next five days they traveled quickly and grew more at ease in each other’s company. Their conversation and quiet times began to feel like they had years ago. At first the sight of Lawrence’s ivory arm and the leather harness that held it in place disturbed Grover. It struck him as a symbol of all that Lawrence had endured and suffered—all they had lost—over the last eight years. But observing how naturally Lawrence moved the limb when he relaxed and the care he took in maintaining and exercising it, Grover began to realize that for Lawrence the prosthetic represented accomplishments—both his survival and his capacity to recover something of the life he’d left behind. Looking at it in that light, Grover found himself appreciating the feel of those polished fingers and even admiring the beauty of all the fine gears and spells. He welcomed that faintest of hums that passed from the ivory palm to his bare skin when they lay naked together.

In response Lawrence shed enough of his self-consciousness to allow Grover to see him without his shirt in the morning sunlight. Grover suspected they might have laid in late and indulged in some fun if it hadn’t been for Romeo attempting to sneak into their camp and causing a wild commotion when he stepped on a hot coal in the fire pit.

While screeching and fleeing, the ridingbird managed to overturn and scatter just about everything. Grover and Lawrence’s sleepy, sultry morning turned into several hours of repacking while playfully bantering about Betty’s taste in males.

Despite himself, Grover felt a secret sort of relief when he sighted Romeo trailing them with his normal spry step. The embers hadn’t done him any real harm aside from making him hotfoot it when he wanted to be courtin’.

He’d never admit it, but the ridingbird’s determination sparked sympathy within him. After all, here he was traipsing through the wilds at Lawrence’s side hoping, silently, that somehow this time Lawrence would stay here with him.

Sometimes, Lawrence’s smiles and affection offered him hope, but other times he’d glance over when Lawrence wasn’t looking and catch that forlorn countenance. He’d only seen one other man wear so desolate and despairing an expression, and he’d been standing on the gallows, with his hands already tied behind his back and a rope around his neck.

The moment Lawrence noticed Grover watching him he instantly hid his stark sorrow, but the thought of it troubled Grover more deeply than he wanted to admit.

Their sixth evening riding, the air remained still and nearly cloudless. Miles of forest spread behind them, looking clear and precise as a picture. Grover spied no sign of the Tuckers’ airship. Though far in the distance, thin trails of campfire smoke rose in straight lines, completely undisturbed by wind. Grover guessed that Weeminuche Utes hunted in the hills south of them. The smoke of so many fires made him wonder if they hadn’t located a large herd of surviving buffalo. Calves would be plentiful this time of year and hunting easy.

“The smoke looks like streaks of rain,” Lawrence commented. “Only rising up into the clouds, instead of falling down.” Grover nodded, liking the idea. Smoke rising, rain falling, the earth and the sky reaching out to each other.

They rode a little farther into a protected valley and made their camp on a rise overlooking a meadow. All around them spikes of purple lupin and gold sunflowers shot up over a patchwork of wildflowers. Lawrence’s horse grazed on verdant oatgrass and ricegrass while Betty snapped up the little critters the stallion startled from the ground cover. Grover pretended not to notice Romeo creeping up between mounds of sagebrush and wild rose bushes, though it took some doing. Between the ridingbird’s brilliant plumage and hulking size, he might as well have been a bejeweled stagecoach slinking through the meadow.

Quite a sight actually.

Lawrence sketched the scene while the light lasted. As the moon began to climb through the brilliant colors of the setting sun, Grover secured Betty for the night. Lawrence hobbled and picketed his stallion then he joined Grover in preparing dinner—a grouse Grover had caught earlier. While they worked they sang their own randy versions of “The Old Bachelor”.

“I’m an old bachelor, of twenty and three

And nary a maid has lain with me

I know little of women, little at all

Still, I and the lads have us a ball.

I am an old bachelor, of twenty and six

Carousing with men, I’ve learned some tricks.

I can ride any horse and drive a hack

Found many warm welcomes round the back.”

They went on, improvising lyrics and laughing between bites of their supper.

After they’d eaten, they cleaned up and made their bed, still laughing and singing to each other. Lawrence allowed Grover to help him with the buckles of the harness that held his ivory arm in place. Free of the harness, Lawrence drew in a deep breath and rolled his shoulders as though they ached. Then he placed his prosthetic arm atop his folded coat with great care and lay down beside Grover.

They were both tired. Still, they made the short time before they fell asleep pleasurable.

“This is what I want to remember,” Lawrence whispered, sounding on the edge of sleep. “When it’s all ended, just this…”

Grover stroked a damp lock of hair back from Lawrence’s face, and for a few moments he studied his gaunt, scarred beloved in the faint glow of the moonlight. He wished he had the words to express the tenderness, fear and longing that churned through him. Or at least some way to temper the sorrow that haunted Lawrence. Grover just shook his head. He wasn’t a man of great words, and in any case, he could tell from Lawrence’s breathing that he was past hearing him. Already fast asleep. Moments later Grover joined him.

He dreamed of the night that surrounded them. Its darkness was like the surface of a still lake, hiding countless hungry, restless bodies. They flitted and prowled through Grover’s mind. Some scampered and played. But one presence steadily grew in Grover’s dream. A belly raw from hunger, and a spirit seething with the frustration of aching joints and old, dull teeth drifted over Grover like a warm wind.

It hated the smoke in the air but also smelled freshly spilled blood and flesh. Through the darkness, its eyes picked out soft, warm bodies lying exposed and asleep. Excitement surged through aged muscles, making it feel almost young again. Its heart raced as it stalked closer through the grass, muscles trembling with tension.

Close now, so close.

The disconcerting image of two men lying under a blanket washed through Grover’s mind. He felt predatory hunger even as he recognized his own hat balanced on a stone and Lawrence’s ivory arm draped over a folded coat.

Grover jerked awake, throwing his blanket back just as Betty let loose with a wild crow. He caught up his rifle. Next to him, Lawrence gave an inarticulate groan and rolled to his knees. Grover fired. The boom of the rifle rang through a mountain lion’s grating, furious snarl.

Then all at once orbs of golden light rose from Lawrence’s lips, illuminating the meadow. Hardly five feet from Grover, a big tawny mountain lion swayed on its feet. A dark stain of blood colored the pale fur of its throat, but its gaze remained locked on Grover. He gripped his rifle ready to swing the butt hard when the big cat pounced. A blue light crackled from Lawrence’s right hand.

The mountain lion staggered.

Suddenly, Betty lunged from the shadows with a wild cry. She kicked the huge talons of her right leg into the mountain lion’s side and sent the cat sprawling sideways. Its body just missed the smoldering embers of the campfire. A second powerful kick tore open a huge gash in the mountain lion’s belly. Its body flopped across the ground like a sack of rags. Betty kicked and pecked at the creature farther out into the gloom of the meadow.

Grover recognized that the mountain lion was far past feeling any hurt. It had already been dead when it stood staring into Grover’s face, with a bullet hole punched through its neck. It just hadn’t known as much.

Lawrence clenched his hand around the spark of blue light, and it died out. The gold orbs floating over them continued to glow but not so brightly. Standing at the picket line, Lawrence’s horse appeared to have only awakened at the tail end of the commotion. The stallion stamped a few times but settled enough to sample a mouthful of flowers.

“What the hell just happened?” Lawrence stared after Betty then turned his attention back to Grover. He looked as shaken as Grover felt. His eyes wide and his hair sticking out at unkempt angles.

“A mountain lion. I reckon he was old and relied on hunting newborns calves. But with the Weeminuche so close to the buffalo herd, I think he hadn’t had much luck. So he took a chance on the nearest thing that seemed easy.” Grover frowned at the embers of the campfire. “The smell of our fresh grouse probably drew him. He must have been desperate, near starving, to chance coming so near Betty. Wolves and mountain lions both tend to keep clear of her now that she’s full grown.”

“But how did you know it was there?” Lawrence asked.

“I heard Betty crow.” Grover sat back down amidst the bedding but didn’t set aside his rifle. He doubted that he’d be able to return to sleep anytime soon. Briefly he wondered if he ought to attempt to hitch Betty back to the picket that she’d broken free from. Probably wiser to let her be for a little time. She was still worked up and tearing at her dead foe.

“That was a hell of a shot.” Lawrence too knelt back down on their bedding. His shoulder brushed Grover’s, and Grover leaned into him just a little. Three of the gold orbs dimmed and went out, leaving only two still shining. “How did you see where to aim through the dark?” Lawrence asked.

“I don’t rightly know that I did, so much as I just snatched up the rifle and fired.” Grover considered for a moment, remembering fragments of his strange dream. “I just sort of knew it was creeping up on us from the left.”

Lawrence studied him a moment.

“The same way that you just knew that King Douglass didn’t mean us any harm that first day we set out?” Lawrence asked.

“That’s right.” Grover replied. “My ma used say that if folk just learned to listen, they could hear every living creature around them. My pa thought so too, that was how he taught me to hunt.”

Lawrence nodded, his expression thoughtful but not quite so strained as it had been earlier.

A thin seam of pale light was seeping along the jagged line of the eastern horizon. It would be dawn soon. There wouldn’t be any point in trying to go back to sleep, at the same time it was a little too dark to begin the day’s work.

“Do you think there are any more mountain lions out in the dark about to attack us?” Lawrence asked.

“Not just now, no.” Grover decided after a moment. “I think it’s mostly songbirds, little blue-footed dinosaurs that are waking up to begin their dawn choruses.” First thing, the birds and dinosaurs could make quite a racket, all of them calling and chirping to each other.

“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in putting down your rifle? Perhaps we could bide out time until the sun’s up?” Lawrence leaned into Grover and almost shyly stroked Grover’s back with his left hand.

That struck Grove as about the best thing he could think of doing. Lawrence let the last of the gold lights go out, and the two of them lay back together.

By noon, they reached a narrow pass Grover called the Needle’s Eye. There they turned west, descending towards the brackish waters of the Rift River. The terrain grew wet and warm. Lush vines, dense stands of magnolia and giant ferns invaded groves of native aspen. Veils of mist filled the gullies and rain showers fell most evenings. The ground turned to mud and creeks that Grover easily jumped across in winter now spread into bogs. The signs of bigtooths grew more fresh and common.

That afternoon they came upon a gargantuan longneck carcass sprawled across several uprooted willows. The smell of it filled the air like a fog, and its prone body rose like a hill of bloody bone and overripe meat. Pterosaurs, vultures, eagles and vast flocks of crows blanketed the heights of the mountainous corpse, while coyotes, foxes and even a bear fed on the hunks of flesh and bone that the bigtooth had left after it fed.

“Wolves have already been here.” Grover noted the tracks in the soft mud. “And a momma cougar with two kittens it looks like.”

“You reckon the liè lóng—bigtooth—will come back for seconds anytime soon?” Lawrence inquired.

“This time of year there might be a whole brood of ’em.” Grover touched his rifle like a talisman but didn’t free it from his saddle. “But from the look of things they ain’t going hungry just now.”

“Still…” Lawrence said, as a second bear ambled out from between two magnolia trees.

Grover nodded. A carcass like this would pull every hungry predator for miles and miles away. He felt no inclination to repeat their earlier encounter with the mountain lion. Only a fool would make camp anywhere near here.

“We should keep a move on,” Grover finished for him.

They forwent their lunch, riding till twilight to get well clear of the rank, rotting scent of the remains.

That evening, Grover hiked a little distance to refill their canteens from a fresh water spring. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a form burst through the underbrush. Grover whipped up his rifle only to find Romeo gawking at him with disappointment. Clearly he’d picked up Betty’s scent off of Grover’s leathers and gotten his plumage all glossy and proud for their assignation.

“I’m already spoken for,” Grover muttered.

Romeo quickly scuttled away, and Grover won a good laugh out of Lawrence when he related the story over dinner that night.

Frogs sang Lawrence and Grover to sleep as they lay in each other’s arms. In the mornings the hum of mosquitoes woke them. It should have made for a miserable slog, but Lawrence maintained an amused attitude and at times seemed genuinely fascinated by the strange world that their once-familiar stomping grounds had become. When he pointed out a vibrant flower, Grover couldn’t fail to see the beauty in it. He didn’t gripe when Lawrence took a few moments to sketch, particularly not after Lawrence took to showing his drawings when they settled down for supper by their fire.

“Are those farts you’ve drawn puffing up from the back ends of them three-horns?” Grover asked.

Lawrence grinned at him. Wasn’t as if both of them hadn’t coughed and choked on the pungent fumes the herd had left behind. In spite of that Grover found the drawings fascinating. As much as the rift had destroyed the lands, it had also filled Grover’s life with wonder and created opportunities for folks like him to succeed. But when he told Lawrence as much, Lawrence just shook his head.

“That’s because you’re an exceptional man, Grove. But I don’t think one in a hundred people would thank me if they knew what I’d done to them.”

Grover frowned at the flurry of pen lines that so perfectly captured the motion and power of three-horns running and rutting. Of course the rifts had been terrible, but not everything that came of them was bad. Lawrence had to see that, otherwise how would he ever manage to live in this world?

“You know, sometimes the world needs to get shook up so the people on the bottom have a chance of going any place else. My cousin Frank only managed to free his daughter because of the floods. If they hadn’t come when they did, she would have been sold on to a bordello owner,” Grover said at last.

Lawrence considered that silently and offered Grover a faint smile. “I’m glad for that, then.”

Grover supposed it would be best to let it go for the night. There were other ways to show Lawrence that life right here and now still promised pleasure and joy enough.

Early on their ninth day riding, they reached the huge canyon that the Rift River had plowed through Grand Lake Valley. The track they followed narrowed and they rode single file along the cliff’s edge. Below them dead and decaying trees lined the riverbanks, while beds of sedges, salt rushes and agave grew up in their places. The waters roared past, far too wild and deep to ford. But fish leapt and splashed through the torrents, while an enormous crocodile basked beside the salt pools and ponds that edged the river. On the far side of the canyon, some fifty jade-green turtles the size of prize pigs slowly dragged themselves into the river, leaving behind sandy mounds and clutches of buried eggs.

As they rode lower Grover pointed out the white salt crystals that limned tree trunks and rocks like frost. Thick crusts edged pools nearer the river. Grover spotted a herd of bighorn sheep licking up the salt while nervously eyeing a lounging crocodile.

If he’d been on his own Grover might have worked his way down to harvest several pounds of salt himself. The stuff was as valuable as gold dust back in Fort Arvada. But he could sense Lawrence’s anxiousness to keep moving and reach the rift. By now the Tuckers were likely searching it out for themselves and—unless they were dolts—they’d start by attempting to follow the Rift River to its source. That meant they’d be closing in on him and Lawrence soon.

“On our way back after this is all done, you think you’ll have time to spend a few hours scraping salt?” Grover gestured to the white blooms encrusting a pool some thirty feet below them.

“I’m not—” Lawrence cut himself off short as Grover looked back at him. Then he shrugged. “I can’t make any promises, not before I’ve closed the last rift.”

“Fair enough,” Grover replied, but Lawrence’s refusal made him uneasy. Not just because he wouldn’t commit to something so small as a couple hours, but because of the desolation in his expression when he spoke of the rift.

Though once they rounded the curve of the raging river and rode out of earshot of the torrents, Lawrence’s easygoing temperament seemed to return to him. He made light of the ticks and biting bugs that bedeviled him through the lush brush of ferns, oaks and cycads, referring to himself as a three-ring flea-circus. When their path opened up, Lawrence rode alongside Grover.

“Don’t suppose there’s something you can do about my little army of hangers-on?” Lawrence inquired.

“How do you mean?” Grover asked.

“Well, you don’t seem much bothered by the blood-suckers.” Lawrence scratched at his chest and then scowled as he flicked a fly away. “The entire time we’ve been riding through these swamps, you’ve hardly been bitten. Whereas I and my horse are being eaten alive.”

It was true that Lawrence sported a number of bites and welts while Grover remained largely untouched. He’d never noticed the absence of the little torments when traveling on his own, but now it did strike him as odd.

“Maybe I taste bad,” Grover suggested.

“Now I know for a fact that that ain’t the case, Grove. You are sweet as honey and intoxicating as calvados.” Lawrence favored him with a sultry smile which made Grover’s cheeks flush with the hot memory of Lawrence’s lips on him.

“There is something that you do though, isn’t there?” Lawrence’s expression turned more serious. “When you get a bite. I bet you curse the little critters silently or some such, don’t you?”

“Well, I don’t hardly wish them a hearty meal and a happy stay with me.”

They reached a small waterfall of meltwater and Grover stopped to refresh their canteens. Lawrence rinsed his face and hands. Both Betty and Lawrence’s horse drank from the pools surrounding the fall. Larks and tiny, fuzzy pterosaurs flitted between the water and the flower-laden magnolias surrounding them. While their mounts drank, Lawrence drew in his sketchbook and in a matter of moments produced copies of several of the orchid blossoms that sprang up from the mossy stones as well as overhanging tree branches.

Then they both mounted once more, and Lawrence returned to their previous conversation.

“There was a girl I met in China who could drive off lice with a wave of her hands,” Lawrence said. “She also called wild horses to her and tamed them with a touch.”

“Oh?” That sounded like something from the stories his ma used to tell him. It put him a little in mind of Queen Adiaha Umo judging for the fly wronged by a cow. “Did she make good trade out of it?”

“She did well by me. But my point is that in my travels I’ve come to realize there are many more types of mages than just the elemental trinity that theurgists recognize. I think you might have something in common with Jingfei—the Chinese girl who sold us horses.”

“I don’t know about that.” Grover couldn’t imagine calling himself a mage, and he didn’t want to even think about the hell Reverend Dodd would give him if he had to register himself and take an oath, as Lawrence had back when he’d turned sixteen.

“I suspected that you wouldn’t take to the idea, but you have to admit there aren’t any fleas or flies on you and it isn’t just anyone who can understand a dinosaur at a glance, or feel a mountain lion through the dark—”

“But that’s nothing,” Grover protested. “None of that’s a sign of being a mage. Not like that one night when you pulled light right up out of the ground and lit up the Fire Springs all around us.”

“Well, how else was I going to witness the glory of you swimming in the buff under the stars?” Lawrence gave a soft laugh and Grover smiled at the memory of the evening. He’d been real shy at first, all lit up like that, but Lawrence had joined him in the warm spring water and made him feel handsome as anything.

“There’s so much that theurgists don’t know, and so much more that they just won’t acknowledge because it falls outside the Holy Book,” Lawrence went on. “But believe me, there’s more power in this world than just earth, water and wind. There’s the life itself coursing through all of us, from fleas and flowers up to presidents and popes.”

Grover nodded. He’d seen enough of the living and the dead to know that something subtle and yet integral separated one from the other, and it could be lost in a single breath. That still didn’t make him a mage.

“In China they called it qi. In India the Hindus whisper of it as prana despite a veritable army of English theurgists banning practices of controlling such power.” Lawrence’s tone alone conveyed his annoyance at that. “A Hebrew trader I met in Salonica described living energy as Ruah. Even one of the theurgist missionaries Honora introduced me to admitted that the ancient Hellenes knew the concept and that the people of Oceania believe in a vital force that flows through every living thing.”

“You’re just telling me this as an excuse to brag about all the places you’ve been, ain’t you?” Grover teased. Frankly, he hadn’t thought about how far and how long Lawrence must have been making his way secretly from China to England. Nearly six years he’d have been journeying alongside Gaston and Honora.

Grover wondered how early on Lawrence and Gaston had become lovers, then wished that he hadn’t because knowing either way, it wouldn’t do him any good.

“God’s own truth, I am not,” Lawrence replied. “I honestly believe that you’re a kind of mage, Grove. I’ve thought so for a long time, but it didn’t seem like my place to push it on you.”

Grover watched a dragonfly dart past him and felt its papery wings hum across his skin.

“But now it is?” Grover asked.

“Now…things are different. Knowing what abilities you have to call upon could make all the difference if matters turn bad.”

“You think I ain’t seen my share of hard times already?” Grover raised his brows but then he laughed and shook his head, because he didn’t really want to argue with Lawrence. “Even if I am some half-assed mage, I don’t reckon it would change much. Except I suppose I’ll give it a go running any biting bugs off you and your horse tonight. Or was that all you were after?”

“Well, I wouldn’t object by any means, but no that wasn’t my purpose in initiating the conversation.”

“So?” Grover prompted.

“So, I think that if you are a qi mage, it couldn’t hurt you to actively practice your talent.” Lawrence paused, and he bowed low to his stallion’s neck, ducking below an overhanging willow branch. “What you’ve managed, just on intuition, is astounding. Think what you might be able to do if you honed your skill.”

“Send an army of fleas and bedbugs to harass Sheriff Lee?” Grover suggested.

“Or dissuade a bigtooth from hunting you.” Lawrence raised his brows. “That might come in handy, don’t you think?”

That would indeed, Grover thought.

“Am I even going to have to worry about that once you’ve closed the rift?” Grover asked.

“What’s on this side of the rift will be trapped here and vice versa.” Lawrence glanced down the cliff’s edge to the river now far below them. “The floodwater may dry up over time. Dinosaurs could adapt and keep breeding.”

Grover wasn’t certain if he ought to feel happy or disappointed about that. On one hand it would slow communications as well as farming and ranching. On the other hand all those plantations would remain under saltwater and worthless to the bastards who’d profited from making slaves of their fellow human beings.

Also, Grover wouldn’t lose Betty and King Douglass. Admitting how close he felt to the two critters, he supposed there might be something to Lawrence’s speculation…maybe.

“I don’t rightly know how I’d practice,” Grover admitted at last.

“If you’d like I can show you a couple exercises I learned in the corps.”

Grover didn’t know why, but the suggestion delighted him far more than it ought to have. Then he realized Lawrence wasn’t only promising to improve his chances against a bigtooth, this was the first time Lawrence had so much as hinted at the two of them being together beyond the present moment. Through all the days and nights they’d spent together so far, he hadn’t once mentioned a future beyond the closing of the rift.

Grover didn’t want to push Lawrence, but he hated how the uncertainty gnawed at him. Every day he rediscovered more of what he’d adored and cherished in Lawrence’s company. At the same time, he fought his own happiness back down, because he didn’t think he could stand to care so damn much for the man and lose him all over again.

“I’d like that.” Grover didn’t dare say more.

And fortunately he didn’t have to since all at once the ground began to shudder beneath them. Flocks of birds in the trees ahead of them took to the skies in streaming clouds.

Grover and Lawrence both stilled their mounts, and Grover thought he noticed Romeo stop off to his left near a thicket of hackberries.

“Was that—” Lawrence began, but Grover silenced him with a finger to his own lips.

The earth shook again—leaves and blossoms tumbled down from trees—as a deep, lowing moan rolled through the air like thunder. Another call followed it.

“Longnecks,” Grover told Lawrence.

“Not a bigtooth?”

Grover shook his head. Heavy as they looked, bigtooths moved as stealthily as cougars. In fact, it had been the sudden terrified silence of every bird and little chattering beast that had alerted Grover to the presence of a hunting bigtooth on several occasions.

They rode on, and about an hour later when they reached high ground, they found themselves treated to the sight of two gigantic golden longnecks humping and lumbering across a flowery meadow. Their massive tails swept across yards of ground, sending leaves, blossoms and several shrubs sailing through the air. The gleaming behemoths united, both of them bellowing and snorting like two steam engines suddenly endowed with the anatomy and desire for amorous congress. Tremors rocked through the soil, and a family of voles dashed from their nest and raced past Grover.

A small herd of buffalo looked on from the far edge of the meadow. Grover wasn’t sure if they seemed more awed or horrified witnessing the awkward climax of these two giants.

“It’s like watching landslides copulate,” Lawrence commented. Then he added with a crooked smile, “And here I thought I’d seen it all.”

“It’s a world of wonders when you’re traveling with me, that’s for certain,” Grover replied.

While the two longnecks disengaged and returned to the more subdued activity of grazing, Lawrence and he rode along the edge of the meadow and crossed back under the cover of trees. They made the Rabbit Hills before sundown and ate a meal of clams that Grover gathered from one of the distributary streams that splintered off from the Rift River. Lawrence contributed some of the rice he’d brought along, and that combined with a few sprigs of wild sage made for quite a repast, in Grover’s opinion.

“Could do with a beer though.” Lawrence scratched at the thick stubble covering his jaw. Grover had forgotten how red Lawrence’s beard came in. The hairs looked like copper in the glow of the fire.

“I built a still at the cabin and hauled up my ma’s old oak barrels,” Grover informed him as he stretched out and warmed his damp feet by the fire.

“Don’t tell me you’re distilling your mama’s applejack?” Lawrence’s face lit up with delight. Grover might as well have told him he had hot taps, a flushing toilet and a solid gold bed; he still wouldn’t have impressed Lawrence more.

“Yep. I had to do something with my time at the height of winter. Only so many hours a man can hunt.” Grover indulged himself in a satisfied smile. “I’ve got two barrels aged five years now. I figure it couldn’t hurt to sample some. If you ain’t too busy with other things.”

“Now you’re just teasing me!” Lawrence laughed then he sighed. “The whole time I was traveling through India, I kept having this dream that you brought me a bottle of that sweet applejack…”

“Is that all I did?” Grover expected not, knowing the sorts of dreams he’d indulged in while missing Lawrence. Most involved fucking and laughing and the immense relief of knowing that Lawrence wasn’t lost to him.

Those dreams had been worse to rise from than nightmares because they left his waking days desolate.

“In the dreams you would always put your arms around me and let me rest my head on your chest. Then you told me that I had to keep going and make things right,” Lawrence said, and Grover didn’t like the sadness in his tone, but then Lawrence caught himself and pulled a smile. “Speaking of not shirking my duties. Wasn’t I supposed to show you a little mage training?”

“Well, the suggestion was made. But am I gonna have to put my boots back on?” Grover scowled at the slumped piles of marsh-soaked leather sitting next to Lawrence’s riding boots beside the fire. “My toes are just starting to warm up.”

“No. You don’t even have to stand up if you don’t want to.” Lawrence quickly closed the distance between them, sitting down beside Grover. He held out his left hand. “Just take my hand in yours.”

Grover took his warm hand. Lawrence interlaced their fingers and very lightly traced a circle over the back of Grover’s hand with the ivory fingers of his right hand. Grover felt the slightest tickle and only heard a murmur as Lawrence whispered foreign-sounding words.

“What’s that supposed to do?” Grover asked.

“Keep your feet warm,” Lawrence replied, and Grover wasn’t sure if he was serious or not. He almost asked but Lawrence gave him a serious look.

“Close your eyes and let yourself relax,” Lawrence instructed him. “Whatever might be bothering you, forget about it for the time being. Relax.”

Grover closed his eyes and took in a few deep breaths—breathing the way his ma had taught him to when he needed to cool his temper. Not that he felt angry now, just a mite too excited and nervous. Over and over he drew a slow breath in and blew it out, along with the tension in his muscles. Until he felt like he could almost drift off to sleep.

“Now listen to your surroundings,” Lawrence said quietly. “Not just the sounds but the silence. Feel the waves moving through the air and the deep stillness of the surrounding stones.”

How in the blazes he was supposed to accomplish that Grover had no idea, but he went ahead and tried, listening intently to the noises of the twilight night. Bats peeped and fluttered between distant stands of trees. Lawrence’s horse snored softly while Betty scratched grass and earth into a bed for herself. Way off he could just make out the rumble of the Rift River.

But as for waves moving through the air or the stillness of stones, no. Grover focused hard, attempting to pick out the faintest trace of either, but only his awareness of the warmth of Lawrence’s fingers seemed to grow. Where their skin pressed, Grover sensed a hum of excitement but also steady waves of heat, pulsing like a heartbeat. The steadfastness of that rhythm struck him as deeply comforting and drew him closer to Lawrence. As he focused he realized that Lawrence blazed like a brilliant fire pored into the shape of a man. Though his right arm flared with tiny blue sparks.

A strange sensation came over Grover, as if he were floating over his own relaxed body and curling around Lawrence in a plume of smoke. He caught the exhalation of Lawrence’s breath and rose with it into the cool evening air. All around him he felt tiny pulses flicker like starlight as moths winged past him and bats pursued them. As Grover took it in, he realized that each of them shone with a warm glow that lit their flesh like light streaming through stained glass.

Farther out, the lush forest radiated luminous green while countless creatures—some huge others miniscule, some stalking others sleeping—gleamed like a million scattered candle flames. He felt almost as if he could reach out and catch even the largest ones—that sleeping bigtooth only a few miles west, or the two sated longnecks that lay curled around each other—with just a flick of his hand. The warmth of them pulled at him, though the longer he focused on any one of them, the more it seemed to stretch towards him. Briefly he wondered if he couldn’t draw a light all the way from the flesh it inhabited into the palm of his hand, but he resisted. That seemed, somehow, wrong to him.

Instead he turned his attention to the weird blue haze that bobbed far off on the horizon. A grating, mechanical beat reverberated from it, and Grover could see the golden lights of night birds, bats and insects whirling away from its slow path across the sky.

Could that be the Tuckers’ airship, he wondered?

Without thinking, he curled himself around the swift soft body of a bat and winged after the airship. It floated a great distance away, and when the little bat’s strength flagged, Grover pushed some of his own warmth and light into the bat’s weary body. A feeling of shared exhilaration flooded him. As one he and the bat snapped up several fat mosquitoes and tore through the night to swoop alongside the sleek airship’s long gondola.

Dozens of shining human forms crowded the deck as he passed. Though three of them struck him as very strange. Up at the bow on the bridge stood two forms, both faint compared to the others surrounding them. But stranger still was the fact that when one moved away from the other, a stream of light stretched out between them like an umbilical cord. As Grover watched he saw the light flare up in one of the figures—growing almost as bright as it blazed in the surrounding people—but then it seemed to drain into the second body.

Back near the quarterdeck, the third figure sat near five others. But unlike the others this body seemed swathed in an immense ribbon of sparkling blue letters, while a tiny, intense gold light shone between and beneath them. Grover suspected that he knew who these people were but he wished he could be certain. If only he could actually see them instead of sensing the brilliance their lives threw off.

If he could somehow use other eyes…then he cursed himself for choosing to ride along on a bat. The moment the thought occurred to him, he was surprised to find he really could see the figures of the uniformed men on the deck of the gondola.

On the quarterdeck, a group sat near and on artillery cases, placing bets as they studied their hands of cards. Recognizing Lawrence’s countenance in their midst gave him a little jolt. He’d suspected as much but hadn’t realized how perfect Lady Astor’s impersonation would appear. She grinned, Lawrence’s crooked grin, and laid out a royal flush. The guards and crewmen groaned and coins changed hands. One of the men complained that the naked women drawn on the cards had distracted him.

“At least you claimed a lovely view from a losing hand,” Honora replied. “My girl on the king of diamonds nearly made my eyes water.” That won her guffaws and a slap on the back.

Grover swept over them and circled one of the hanging lamps, snapping up a moth.

Suddenly one of the Tucker twins came pelting towards the gathered men. The second twin followed close behind—and now Grover suspected he knew why they stayed so very close to each other.

“There’s a spy on board!” the first Tucker shouted.

“There.” The second lifted a pistol towards Grover. Terror raced through the tiny body he inhabited.

Honora instantly stood, blocking the shot.

“Are you mad?” Honora’s words boomed out in Lawrence’s voice. Even the Tuckers froze in response to the authoritative tone. “We’re surrounded by cases of explosives, alchemic dust and black powder. And you’re aiming at a lamp!”

Grover took advantage of the Tuckers’ hesitation to flit back into the darkening sky.

“It set off an alarm,” one of the Tuckers snapped. “Likely another bird or bat possessed by another of those filthy redskins to spy, and you’ve let it escape.”

The rest of his words faded from Grover’s hearing as he raced from the airship and soared back towards the camp where his body lay slumped across Lawrence’s lap. The sight of that gave him another shock. What if he’d died somehow? Was he going to have to live out the rest of his life eating mosquitoes and hearing shapes all around him?

“Come on, Grove,” Lawrence said softly, and he traced the circle around the back of Grover’s hand again. “Come back to me, darling.”

Grover felt a slight tug and let himself be pulled free of the bat. At once he sank back to his own body, and then rushed in like a deep breath. He felt cold and oddly stiff. Lawrence’s hand seemed hot as an ember.

Grover opened his own eyes to gaze up into Lawrence’s strained face.

“Did you know that bats aren’t actually blind?” Grover asked.

“I didn’t.” Lawrence laughed, looking relieved. Then he stroked Grover’s cheek and leaned down and kissed him.