Chapter Three

Early-morning light filtered through the dense branches of fir and spruce trees, burning the dew scattered across the needles to a white mist. Warm gusts buffeted Grover’s hat and wound the perfume of sage blossoms around him. Lark buntings and a couple warblers sang out from their roosts in trees. Then came the rising caws of a little bluefoot dinosaur proclaiming its dominion over a patch of scrub oak.

Betty raised the crest of feathers atop her head and let out a proud crow in response. Some critter in the shrubs skittered away. To his credit, the spotted Palouse stallion carrying Lawrence took the noise—and Betty’s company—in stride.

“Is she always so vocal?” Lawrence asked. He’d forgone his blue federal uniform for simple civilian clothes, a wide-brimmed hat and an old hunting coat that Grover remembered from years ago. Noting the slack fit of the coat, Grover couldn’t help but recognize just how spare Lawrence had grown.

“No. Most of the year she just chirps and coos. But for a week or so in spring, she likes to let all the world know she’s here.” Betty getting her blood up was one of the reasons Grover preferred not to be out in the wilds with her in May. Last year she’d slipped away from him for nearly a week. She’d come prancing back to him one evening just when he was about to give up on searching for her.

Grover hoped she’d learned her lesson.

“She only crows in the morning,” Grover added. “The rest of the day she’ll be quiet as a shadow. If there’s a bigtooth or a thunderbird anywhere near, she won’t make a peep, don’t worry.”

“Bigtooth?” Lawrence asked.

“One of them dinosaurs.” Grover tried to think of just how to describe the giant beast. He pointed to a slender poplar. “Stands on two legs about as tall as that sapling there. About forty feet from its nose to the tip of its tail. Great big head full of long teeth, huge hind legs but with weird, stunted arms.”

Lawrence eyed the tree as they rode past it. “Is the tail remarkably muscular? Fuzzy speckled plumes growing down the neck and back?”

“Yep. You’ve run across one, yourself?”

“Maybe not the exact same species, but something similar. Tyrannusdente.” He reaching into the pocket of one of his saddlebags and drew out a slim, leather-bound journal. It reminded Grover of the sketchbooks Lawrence had used to fill up with drawings and watercolor studies when they’d been boys. Lawrence held the journal out and Grover took it from him. Dark stains as well as singe marks speckled the aged cover. The thick pages within felt soft from wear.

“Ignore the first six pages,” Lawrence said quickly. “They’re a mess—I hadn’t gotten used to using my left hand.”

Seeing how self-conscious Lawrence looked, Grover flipped past the crimson-spattered watercolor studies of disfigured human bodies, ragged teeth and grotesquely distorted faces. Though in one corner, at odds with the horror surrounding it, Grover recognized the blue profile of the mountains rising in the distance ahead of them.

Lawrence must have been able to draw the landscape in his sleep for the number of times the two of them had passed beneath the shadows of the towering peaks.

Beyond that page he found detailed drawings of animals and plants. Some—like the tusked deer or plump black-and-white bears—Grover had never seen before, but many others he recognized.

If they weren’t exactly the same breeds of dinosaurs he had encountered in the mountain valleys, they were very close. Three-horns with brilliant red crests shared pages with four-winged beasts and several long-legged creatures that resembled Betty—though they sported darker feathers. Pterosaurs of all sizes and colors filled a spread of two pages. On the twelfth page Grover found the painting of a bigtooth as well as several smaller animals, sporting jagged maws and large sickles for talons.

“That’s a bigtooth, alright. Ones around here grow more olive plumage, but otherwise it looks the same.” Grover considered the overgrown trail ahead of them. Betty knew the way, and this close to Fort Arvada they weren’t likely to encounter much dangerous wildlife. Still the sight of the bigtooth, even in a drawing, set Grover on edge.

He glanced to Lawrence. “How did you get close enough to draw it?”

“I didn’t unpack my sketchbook until it was dead. They’re called liè lóng in China. The hunting dragon.” Lawrence too studied the surrounding stands of fir and spruce warily. “Get many in this area?”

“Only three regularly venture far from the rift,” Grover replied as casually as he could. Used to be none of them ranged beyond Mirror Lake, but each year more edged farther into populated territory. “Mostly they trail herds of big game. Three-horns and whiptails like you’ve drawn here.” Grover lifted the sketchbook and Lawrence nodded.

“Triceratops and tenontosaurus,” Lawrence informed him. “Though three-horn and whiptail strike me as much better names.”

“Well, however you call them, they aren’t the only game bigtooths are getting used to hunting. Late last fall I saw one tearing after a herd of elk.”

“Did it catch any?” Lawrence asked.

“It didn’t strike me as wise to linger and find out what it might do if it didn’t,” Grover admitted.

Lawrence laughed and Grover passed his sketchbook back to him.

After riding farther west, the close stands of fir opened to a spring meadow. Small pterosaurs and hawks circled and swooped through the open blue sky. Grover searched the horizon for any sign of thunderbirds. One of them could spear a man and his horse with a stroke of its enormous beak. Grover guessed that it was too early in the year for many of the cloud-white giants to be hunting near Fort Arvada. Still, he’d feel more at ease when he and Lawrence could travel under tree cover.

Though now, gazing at the vast expanse of sky, Grover remembered the Tuckers’ airship. They’d make better time flying above the craggy land instead of riding across it.

“How long before they’re going to start looking for the rift without a guide?” Grover asked.

“I expect that Honora may be able to delay them a week or two, but not much beyond that.” Lawrence paused a moment, watching a speckled green pterosaur roll in the sky and snap up a butterfly. Grover could almost see the desire to stop and sketch flicker across Lawrence’s sharp face. Then he returned his attention to Grover. “How long do you think it will take to reach the rift?”

“If the weather holds and we don’t have to take a long way round to avoid a three-horn herd, it should be about sixteen days.” Grover pointed northwest to where the diamond-sharp ridges of two mountain peaks rose over the rolling hills. “We’ll swing under Two Guides and track north and follow the riverbank southwest.”

“River?” Lawrence asked.

“The new one that the rift floods tore open. The waters swallowed up all of the Grand Lake valley and swept south and overflowed the entire Arkansas River.” He and Lawrence had often hunted around the lake when they’d been boys. All those secret places where they’d lain down together now lay far beneath fast-moving waters. “For lack of much creativity, I call it the Rift River.”

“Sensible, that. So sixteen days to Fire Springs?”

Grover nodded and continued riding. It wasn’t until they’d crossed the meadow and returned to the shadows of dark pines that it struck Grover he hadn’t told Lawrence the rift had opened at Fire Springs. An uneasiness began to gnaw at his gut. He thought back over their few conversations. But no, he hadn’t once given away the exact location of the rift opening.

At last Grover wheeled Betty around, blocking Lawrence and his horse.

“If you already know the rift opened at Fire Springs then what the hell is going on here?” Grover demanded. “Why am I playing guide?”

Lawrence flinched like Grover had hit him with a hot poker. Surprise alone couldn’t account for how the color drained from his face. He looked gray and sick as he met Grover’s gaze.

“I don’t know where it is exactly. The terrain has all changed.” If he was lying, it didn’t show.

“But of all the hills and valleys, you just figured it was the one where you and me used to fool around?” Grover asked.

Lawrence shrugged.

“That ain’t no kind of answer, Lawrence.” Grover paused, hearing a sharp squawk drift through the trees. The call of a wild ridingbird, like Betty, but a good distance off. He returned his attention to Lawrence, though he lowered his voice. “You know a lot more than you’re telling me about all of this.”

“Yes.” Lawrence looked none too happy but didn’t offer anything up to make either of them feel better.

“Just sayin’ ‘yes’ ain’t gonna cut it.” If Grover’d had any tobacco, he’d have spit it. “Either you start being forthcoming or I’ll turn right around here and now and ride back to Fort Arvada.”

“You wouldn’t let the Tuckers get to the rift first.”

Grover wasn’t certain if Lawrence was calling his bluff or expressing alarm at the thought of the Tuckers reaching the rift before him. Either way, Grover wasn’t going to back down. Too much danger surrounded them in just the lay of the land. Grover didn’t need other surprises springing up when Lawrence could have warned him.

“All I have is your word that you’re planning to close the rift once we reach it. But these silences and shifty looks of yours make me worry you aren’t up to anything better than the bullshit the Tuckers have planned.”

“Grover, I wouldn’t… You know me—”

“No! I knew you. Then you signed up to fight a war halfway across the world and left me!” Grover clamped his mouth shut and drew in a deep breath. He hadn’t meant for so much of his hurt to come rushing out. This wasn’t about what was behind them but what lay ahead, he reminded himself. He continued in a calmer tone. “It’s been eight years and most everything has changed. So if you want me to trust you then you better give me a reason to. Tell me the truth.”

Lawrence brought his ivory right hand up to his face and clenched his brow as if trying to keep his head from bursting apart. With a heavy sigh he dropped his hand back to his reins and looked to Grover.

“I’m not keeping things from you because I want to lie to you, Grove. I’m trying to do what little I can to protect you…”

“From?” Grover asked, and when Lawrence offered him a pained expression he added, “Telling me who I need to watch out for would sure as shit make it easier for me not to walk into anything, don’t you think?”

“The Tuckers first and foremost. But also sycophants like Sheriff Lee. There’s an army of immoral sons-of-bitches who’d like to blame anyone else for the consequences of their politics and greed.” Lawrence scowled. “If they catch us, or if I can’t make it… You’ll be on your own against them, and the less you know, the less they can blame you for.”

“You really think men like Sheriff Lee need anything other than the color of my skin to blame me for anything?” Grover snorted at the thought.

“No, but the Director of Theurgy and Magicum will. And in this case having them underestimate you might just save your neck. So long as Nate Tucker doesn’t suspect that you’ve learned his secrets, he may assume you’re too insignificant to bother hunting down and killing.”

“Yeah, what about his brother David?”

Lawrence shrugged but he dropped his gaze to the ground. There was something there, Grover realized. But was it worth going after if Lawrence really was just trying to safeguard him from Theurgy and Magicum politics? Grover studied Lawrence, considering the situation. Then he shook his head.

He hadn’t been sheltered from the world since his ma’s death had left him to earn a living for himself at fifteen. Lawrence hadn’t been able to defend him then, and Grover sure as hell didn’t need him to now.

“I appreciate you trying to protecting me,” he said. “But I’m not the little boy you knew back in the day. I ain’t been that for a long, long time. I’m man enough to hunt whiptails alongside bigtooth dinosaurs. And I’m tough enough to knock Sheriff Lee on his ass if I need to.” Grover held Lawrence’s gaze. “Bet you a silver dollar I could even lick you in a fight if it came to it. Mage or not.”

Lawrence laughed but not unkindly. He lifted his head and gazed up into the dark branches of the pines surrounding them, as if seeking an answer there. His horse stamped, growing impatient just standing. Absently, Lawrence stroked the animal’s neck.

“I haven’t ever, in all my life, thought you weren’t tough. That’s the one—maybe the only—mistake I haven’t made,” Lawrence said. “I wish to God I had possessed even half your grit back when we were boys. Instead, I let Reverend Dodd and Mr. Haim’s insinuations rattle me so badly that I panicked and abandoned everything that mattered… Now it’s too late.”

“It ain’t so late as all that,” Grover replied as offhandedly as he could. “It’s not even midday.”

It wasn’t as if he’d been fearless back then—he felt scared sometimes even now. But Lawrence’s friendship and company had meant more to him than the safety of solitude. These days most everyone had more to worry about than who kept each other company.

“Even if it’s dangerous, sometimes a man has to obey his own heart,” Grover said, and Lawrence nodded.

“I do know that now. But it took getting engaged and running off into the middle of a war for me to realize just how stupid I’d been and how much I’d ruined… I made so many terrible mistakes.” Lawrence’s eyes flicked down briefly to his ivory hand. He looked to Grover with a resigned expression. “I know I can’t put anything back the way it was. But I have to try to make it as right as I can.”

Grover frowned, recognizing that Lawrence was talking about far more than just their broken romance. A notion, not quite formed but still disquieting, fluttered through Grover’s mind.

“So if you have to have the truth then this is it.” Lawrence paused and seemed to struggle to make himself speak. “I suspected that the rift opened at Fire Springs because I was involved in creating it…in creating them all.”

“You?” The enormity of Lawrence’s confession stunned Grover so completely that he hardly registered the second much-closer crow from a ridingbird. Beneath him Betty stiffened and swiveled her head towards the call.

“Creating the rifts wasn’t our intention,” Lawrence said quickly. “We were trying to manufacture new seams of alchemic stone.”

“Like the Tuckers are after now?”

“Yes.” Fatigue and desolation resonated through Lawrence’s voice. He stared past Grover in the direction of Fire Springs. “Tucker designed the spell and picked three of us from the mage corps to ground and power it outside the Beijing Palace. We didn’t know he’d already failed once himself, and none of us understood what it would do when we pitted ourselves against an earth mage as powerful as Cixi.”

Suddenly a third ridingbird call rang out loud and sharp. Much too close.

Lawrence’s hands came up fast, ready to unleash deadly curses. Grover lifted his rifle but could hardly hold it steady for Betty prancing back and forth as she let out a string of high-pitched whistles.

“What on earth is she—” Lawrence began to ask.

A flashy male ridingbird strutted out from between two lodgepole pines some fifty feet ahead of them. He fluffed up his brilliant gold-and-blue plumes and flashed his tail like some exotic fan dancer as he turned in a slow circle. Then he spread his arms to reveal the iridescent feathers cascading down his chest. He strutted round and round, pausing only briefly to waggle his head and tail.

Betty gawked at him with the slack-jawed appreciation of a prospector just down from the hills and taking in a dancing girl. She crooned and gave a low whistle, while the bright-colored male batted his lashes and shimmied his gaudy tail back and forth.

Grover attempted to retain his dignity when Betty began dancing from foot to foot. But then she wheeled around to flash the male a full view of her ass and hiked her tail up over Grover’s head.

“Betty,” Grover groaned. “You don’t even know who that yahoo is. For God’s sake, have some pride!”

Lawrence burst into laughter while his stallion appeared about as mortified by the display as a horse could look.

“You could scare him off,” Grover suggested, as Betty’s gyrations swung him back and forth. “Flash some lights or some such, like you did that night with the bear.”

“Aw, but Grove, how could I come between two lovers?” Lawrence wiped his eyes but kept on grinning. “They’re clearly taken with each other.”

“They just met!” Grover shot the male bird a disapproving glance, which only seemed to amuse Lawrence all the more. “He’s a flashy showman on the make. Betty could do better than Mr. Burlesque here!”

Thankfully the huge shadow of a thunderbird swept over them. Though the pterosaur likely glided a mile above, it was enough to spook Betty’s suitor, and in an instant he disappeared back into the dark green shadows of the forest. Betty crooned after him a couple times but then heaved a sigh and settled down to preening her breast feathers.

“I told you he was fickle,” Grover murmured.

“Me or Betty?” Lawrence asked.

“Both of you.” Grover tugged lightly at the leather lead, and Betty started along the trail. Lawrence fell in beside them. Grover wasn’t certain of what exactly had changed, but as they continued riding, Lawrence seemed to relax. He grinned boyishly when Grover pointed out the obscene profile of the stone outcropping that the two of them had dubbed “cock rock” nearly a decade ago.

“Well, it seems someone’s happy to see me again.” Lawrence gave the stones an absurdly flirtatious smile and Grover laughed.

As they rode higher up the mountain ridge, the tree cover thinned and wide breaks of spring grass, horsemint and columbine covered the ground.

“Not so much cactus as there used to be,” Lawrence commented.

“More ferns though. We get a lot more rain now,” Grover replied. High up overhead he caught the glint of gold and red that colored the head crests of big male thunderbirds. Grover stilled Betty and narrowed his gaze up into the drifts of white clouds. Lawrence drew his horse to a halt as well.

After a moment Grover picked out a single huge wingbeat. He made out the profile of the silver-white thunderbird. From the crooked tear in its left wing and that crest—bright as a monarch butterfly—Grover knew him at once.

“Up there,” he pointed. “That’s King Douglass.”

“Douglass?” Peering skyward, Lawrence appeared suitably impressed by the immense wingspan of the pterosaur. “After Frederick Douglass?”

“That’s right.” The Christmas before he left, Lawrence had gifted Grover with a handsomely bound copy of My Bondage and My Freedom. They’d spent winter afternoons with a blanket wrapped around them, reading the book together. The prose hadn’t been sensational—nothing like the poems in Leaves of Grass—but several times Lawrence had wept while Grover had pretended that his eyes weren’t too glassy with unshed tears to go on reading. When he finally reached the end—that powerful, heartbreaking letter from the author to his former master—Grover had felt almost overcome. So much of Douglass’s character roused old memories of his father. So much of his history reminded Grover of his departed mother’s desperate flight for her freedom. He hadn’t been able to summon words to express to Lawrence how moved he’d felt. But after that day he’d been more determined than ever to live his life as courageously as Frederick Douglass had.

“He’s completely free and the whole sky is his kingdom,” Grover said. “King Douglass, I mean.”

Lawrence nodded but tensed as the thunderbird drifted closer. Sunlight played through the vast expanses of his membranous wings as if it were shining through cloud breaks.

“I’ve seen one of those creatures kill a whole team of horses,” Lawrence commented. “Shouldn’t we get to cover?”

Grover didn’t answer at once but continued to watch King Douglass as he wheeled slowly overhead. He shifted a wingtip, arched his long fingers against the swift, cold wind and turned a perfect loop. Grover almost felt the thunderbird’s pleasure in simply flying. He’d eaten recently—his belly full and fat with mutton—and now as he winged back to his roost, he enjoyed the liberty of the skies and the warmth of the sun spreading across his long wings. For a moment Grover thought King Douglass cocked his head, taking note of him. Grover offered the thunderbird a smile and indulged himself in thinking that the huge creature acknowledged him with the faintest nod of his crested head.

“He’s just looking us over as he passes,” Grover assured Lawrence. “Bet he’s already filled up on bighorn sheep from the El Dorado Ridge.”

“He told you as much, did he?” Lawrence raised his brows and continued to watch the thunderbird with suspicion.

“No, but…” Grover shrugged. “Sometimes I just know… Sort of like how you can look at a book and read the title without having to sound it out or nothing. It’s like that.”

Lawrence glanced between Grover and King Douglass with a puzzled expression. “You read him like a book?”

“I don’t know how else to describe it. I think he can read me as well, so we understand each other, in a way,” Grover replied, though putting his experience of the thunderbird into words made it sound strange. “He knows I don’t mean him any harm, and right now I know he won’t cause us any trouble. He’s on his way back up west. He’s got flaplings to feed.” As if to prove Grover’s words, King Douglass angled his body upward and suddenly rose, winging fast into the cloudy west. Lawrence watched the thunderbird for several moments then turned to Grover and glanced to Betty.

“In all my travels across China, France and England, I haven’t ever met anyone who could understand a giant pterosaur at a glance much less charm an avemosaur into carrying him about.”

“Maybe none of them ever tried,” Grover answered, because it was surprising how timid some folk could be even in desperate times. He nudged Betty and they continued across the rocky meadow. Small lizards scattered from the tops of sunbaked rocks, and Betty eyed them but didn’t snap after them.

“Perhaps,” Lawrence agreed. “Or maybe you’re just the most charming man alive.”

Grover laughed. He had his ways with animals but when it came to people he usually grew self-conscious and awkward.

“I wouldn’t bet money on that being the case, if I were you.”

“Well, Cora seems to think you’ve won the heart of at least one girl. Susan?” Lawrence’s tone sounded off. Grover peered over, but Lawrence bowed his head into the deep shadow of his hat, seemingly studying little sprays of buttercups surrounding them.

“She mentioned that you’d even met with the girl’s father. So something must be going right,” Lawrence added.

“Land sakes.” Grover couldn’t keep from laughing at the thought of asking Frank for little Susan’s hand in marriage. The fact that she was nine was only one of a multitude of reasons he found the idea absurd. “Cora was having you on. Susan and her pa are my ma’s people. My cousins. They escaped from Bynum when the floods came. I helped Frank find a house and work as a carpenter.”

“Oh.” Lawrence said nothing more for a few moments, though glancing at him Grover could see there was still something on his mind. “So, there isn’t anyone you’re…keeping company with just now?”

“Not just now,” Grover replied calmly, though his pulse kicked up at the thought of Lawrence wondering. “You?”

“There was someone, but it wasn’t—” Lawrence shook his head and gave the stand of white fir ahead of them a glower. “He was married. And from France, so…”

Recollecting how often Lawrence had abandoned his French lessons for their wanders, he suspected that conversation hadn’t likely been the attraction.

“Doux mais brève?” Grover had learned the phrase from a Creole fellow he’d spent a few hours with. When Lawrence looked at him with puzzlement, Grover translated, “Sweet but brief?”

“Near enough.” Lawrence gave a short laugh. “I suppose I could have fought a little harder to make the arrangement work, but my heart wasn’t really in it.”

Grover almost asked where Lawrence’s heart might have really been, but he wasn’t certain he wanted to hear an honest answer. If it had been with him, Lawrence wouldn’t have left in the first place. He wouldn’t have let him go on thinking he was dead for years.

“Well, sometimes a bit of distraction is a fine thing. It can’t all be for better or worse and until death do we part.” Grover knew that well enough, himself.

Lawrence nodded, and they continued riding between the stands of trees and breaks of meadows that made up the ridge. The quiet between them felt peaceable and comfortable. The sun rose high above them, and their shadows burned away to tiny pools of blue shade.

After they passed the first of the Two Guides—Long’s Peak as Lawrence called it—they stopped at Mirror Lake to allow the animals to drink and graze while they shared a portion of Grover’s dried three-horn pemmican. To Grover’s surprise Lawrence didn’t complain about having to eat the hunk of meat, fat and berries cold. Eight years ago he’d have groused after each mouthful. Instead he thanked Grover and wolfed his portion down, only pausing once to ask if it was chokecherry that Grover had added to the mix.

“That and wild strawberries I dried last summer.” Grover tried not to be too obvious in watching Lawrence suck the grease from his fingers. A little oil lent a sheen to his lips and reminded Grover of all the lovely things Lawrence had done for him with that handsome mouth of his.

Eight years back, they’d been easy and playful, turning wrestling matches, foot races and card games into friendly sex without either of them ever saying much about it before or after. But now, Grover realized, they’d both grown up, fucked other men, and learned that it wasn’t all sloppy grins and harmless fun.

Bottom truth was that until Lawrence left him, Grover couldn’t have imagined what it would do to him to mourn so deeply while hiding his loss from every single soul around him. Even after his ma died he hadn’t felt so utterly isolated and estranged. He’d had a right and a reason to grieve as far as other folks knew. Friends and family had been able to understand. But when he lost Lawrence there’d been no comfort offered, no understanding, no sympathy. Little surprise that he’d withdrawn to the wilds, he supposed. Despite the years that had passed, the awareness that he didn’t truly belong among other people—that he wasn’t quite one of them—still haunted Grover.

He turned his gaze from Lawrence to the rolling hills ahead. They’d made good time, and if they kept up this pace they might even reach the shelter of the temple rocks before sundown. Far off he could just discern the dark forms of a small herd of buffalo. Four juvenile whiptails stood grazing in their midst along with five red-crested three-horns. Wolves and cougars would certainly think twice before taking on that bunch.

“Looks like Romeo isn’t dissuaded as easily as you thought.” Lawrence pointed across the meadow. Sashaying out from the pines came the male ridingbird that had fled earlier. He flashed his bright tail like an overgrown peacock, and Betty pranced closer to him. Lawrence’s horse edged away from them both.

“Betty.” Grover pinned her with a hard stare when she looked to him. He pushed all of his determination into his voice. “Come here. Now.”

Betty hunched her feathered arms like a sullen youth and pecked at a clump of chickweed. Grover drew in a breath to call again but she immediately slunk to him, making the same little chirps she’d uttered as a chick. He caught her lead and petted her head gently. She leaned into him, and Grover braced himself. She weighed as much as Lawrence’s stallion but seemed to think she was still light as a bundle of feathers.

“It’s for your own good, Betty,” Grover told her softly. “You don’t want no part of that philanderer, I promise you.”

“Who’d suspect you’d make such a parochial guardian.” Lawrence laughed as he strolled to his own mount and caught the horse’s reins. “You aren’t going to make her hold out until her Romeo asks your permission, are you?”

Grover didn’t know why but the question annoyed him. He didn’t expect wild animals to put on the airs of romance and marriage. But Romeo—as Lawrence called him—was a big beast, and Betty was in Grover’s care. He wanted to keep her safe. Though saying as much would probably only make Lawrence laugh all the harder.

“We don’t have time to waste on a ridingbird romance.” Grover swung up into his saddle. “Unless you aren’t serious about reaching the rift before the Tuckers.”

“Of course I am.” Lawrence’s expression turned grim at the mention of the rift. He tipped his hat to Grover. “Lead on. I and Romeo will follow.”