Part 6 (1/2)

HURL the dog at the man and run! Any action hero would pull it off, but the more rational portion of Collins' mind dismissed the idea immediately. Jackie Chan could outmaneuver a dog; Benton Collins would be lucky to manage two running steps before the animal's teeth sank into his b.u.t.tocks and the man's shouts brought armed companions to finish what the dog started.

Time seemed to move in slow motion. The stalemate dragged into that strange eternity mortal danger sometimes creates. The aroma of the tree flowers condensed into a cloying cloud, like the worst humidity Collins had ever encountered. His lungs felt thick with pollen.

Displaying none of Collins' caution, Falima and Zylas swung down beside him. A chaos of petals and sticks wound through the woman's thick, black hair. She addressed the newcomer in their musical tongue, and he responded in turn. Zylas placed a hand on the dog, and it resumed its struggles.

Clutching the dog's muzzle tightly, Collins braced himself against its sharp-nailed paws. Attention fully on the animal, he addressed his companions. ”What did he say?”

Zylas helped support the dog's floundering weight. His first word eluded Collins, but the rest came through clearly, ”... still angry you hit.” He paused. ”Falima not helping.” He glared at her.

As the dog again sank into quiet despair, Collins glanced at the rat/man and tried to fathom his initial utterance. ”Yah-linn?” It sounded Chinese to him.

Zylas enunciated, ”Ialin. Ee-AH-lin. Other . . . friend.”

Falima and the newcomer continued to converse.

”Friend?” Relief flooded Collins, followed by understanding. ”He must be ... the hummingbird?”

Zylas considered, then smiled and nodded. ”Ialin. Hummingbird. Yes.”

Only then did Collins finally put everything together. He had a.s.sumed ”Ialin” the Barakhain word for ”friend,” but it was, apparently, the hummingbird's name. ”Ialin,” he repeated, then slurred it as Zylas had the first time so it sounded more like, ”Yahlin.” Collins glanced at Falima, only to find Ialin's gaze pinned on him. Duh, Ben. You said his name. Twice. Cheeks heating, he addressed the other man. ”h.e.l.lo and welcome.”

Ialin's scowl remained, unchanged.

Falima said something in their tongue, Ialin replied in a sulky growl, then Zylas spoke in turn. The conversation proceeded, growing more heated. At length, even Zylas punctuated his statements with choppy hand gestures and rising volume.

Collins sat, drawing the dog securely into his lap. This time, it barely fought, settling itself in the hollow between his legs. Helplessly studying his companions' exchange, watching it ignite into clear argument, he found himself fondling one of the dog's silky ears. In careful increments, he eased his grip on its muzzle until he no longer pinned it closed. The dog loosed a ferocious howl so suddenly it seemed as if the sound had remained clamped inside, just waiting for him to release it. Collins wrapped his fingers around the slender snout again, choking off another whirlwind round of barking.

All sound disappeared in that moment. Then, leaves rustled in the breeze, and petals floated in a gentlewash. Collins realized what was missing. In addition to birdsong and the dog's cry, his companions'

discussion had abruptly ended. He glanced over to find three pairs of eyes directly and unwaveringly upon him.

Collins' face flared red, and he forced a sheepish grin. ”Sorry about that.” Aware that treating a human the way he had the dog practically defined a.s.sault and kidnapping, Collins attempted to mitigate his crimes, at least to his companions. ”I'd let it go, but. . .”

Zylas nodded, expression serious. ”Cannot.” He stroked his chin, clearly pondering. Then, shaking his head, dislodging a storm of petals from the wide brim of his hat, he unraveled a ropy, green vine from a nearby trunk. Carrying it to where Collins sat, he expertly bound the dog's mouth shut. Zylas turned his gaze to Falima. ”Know this dog?”

Collins eased away his hand.

The hound's nose crinkled menacingly and it jerked its head, but the vine held.

Falima responded in their language, and Zylas raised a warning hand. ”You have stone. Not waste.”

Falima glowered.

Zylas' look turned pleading, weary.

”I'd rather Ialin understood than . . . him.”

Collins ignored the loathing in Falima's voice and supplied, ”Ben.”

Falima grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a snarly teen's ”whatever.” She switched to English, ”We had best move on.”

Zylas studied the skeletal shapes of trees against the growing darkness, the crescent moon overhead.

”Quickly. I have to sleep soon.”

Falima pushed through the trees, Ialin following. The hummingbird/man moved with a flitty grace, individual movements quick and jerky, yet the whole merging into a smooth and agile pattern. Only Zylas remained, frowning at the problem that remained in Collins' lap. Collins elucidated, ”He can't bark if we let him go, but he also can't eat or drink if he doesn't find his way home quickly.”

”Still think like your world.” Zylas grinned. ”When he switch ...”

Collins imagined trying to tie a man's mouth closed and shared Zylas' amus.e.m.e.nt. ”... the vine will fall off.”

”Right.”

Collins rose, dumping the dog from his lap. ”Shoo. Go home.” Other thoughts dispelled his smile. ”But won't he go back and tell everyone who we are and where?”

Zylas' smile also wilted. ”Falima say he . . . he . . .”he fumbled for the right word, then supplied one questioningly, ”little?”

”Young?” Collins tried, remembering how he, too, had a.s.sessed it as a partially grown pup.

Zylas nodded. ”Like . . . teenager.”

The dog watched them, tail waving uncertainly.

”Probable very dog. Very very dog. Not. . . not retain . . . ?” He looked to Collins to confirm the appropriateness of his word choice.

Collins made an encouraging gesture.

”... what see in switch-form, not same.”

Collins nodded to indicate he understood despite the poorly phrased explanation. Zylas seemed to be struggling more than usual, a sure sign of stress. ”Is it possible he might. . . retain . . . some of what happened here after he resumes human form?”

”Not impossible,” Zylas admitted.

Collins trusted the decision to his companion, glad the dog made it easier by remaining with them unfettered. Its soft brown gaze rolled from one man to the other, and its tail beat a careful rhythm.

Zylas sighed, air hissing through his lips. His face lapsed into creases that seemed to age him ten years.

Beneath the shadow of his hat, his pale eyes radiated troubles, and the white-blond hair hung in limp, tangled strings. ”Too tired to make wise choice.” He ripped another stout vine from the tree and looped it around the dog's neck. ”Keep with us now. Talk. Think.” He headed in the direction their companions had taken. The dog balked.Collins went, too, encouraging the animal by tapping his leg and calling, ”Come on, boy. Come on,” in a happy tone.

Tail whipping vigorously, the dog followed.

Camp consisted of downing the last of their cold rations, tossing their bodies on layers of moldering leaves, and drifting into sleep. Zylas dropped off almost at once. Falima and Ialin chattered in their incomprehensible language, occasionally glancing furtively in his direction. Though exhausted, Collins found sleep more elusive. He knelt by the tethered dog who no longer required the muzzle tie and had eaten his share of the remaining foodstuffs.

Collins ran a hand along the animal's spine. It quivered at his touch, then lowered its head with a contented sigh. Collins continued to stroke the fur, stopping now and then for a pat or a scratch. The dog sprawled on its side, moaning with contentment. Its tail thudded against the ground, and it wriggled as if to keep every part in contact with Collins' hand. He could scarcely believe it the same beast that had inflicted the gash across his hand.

Thinking of it brought back the pain that desperation and need had made him disregard. Collins examined the wound. Clotted blood filled the creases, making it appear to encompa.s.s the entire back of his hand. He spit on a finger, rubbing and sc.r.a.ping until he revealed a superficial, two-inch laceration. He had gotten lucky. He doubted a doctor back home would even bother to st.i.tch it.

The dog whined, sniffing at Collins' hand. It licked the wound.

”Yuck.” Collins jerked his hand away, only then thinking of infection. It seemed unlikely this world had a sophisticated medical system, such as antibiotics. Probably at the level of leeches and bloodletting.