At the sound of her name, Falima turned and shrugged.
"She can't understand you," Zylas reminded.
Oh, yeah. Disappointment flashed through Collins, gradually replaced by guarded relief. As much as he wanted to chat with her, at least, this way, he could not ruin their friendship by saying something stupid.
They continued through softly contoured mountains carpeted with weeds, wildflowers, and evergreen forests. Now, Zylas' diversions became clearer to Collins, as they meandered down and sideways as often as upward, and he often forgot that they traveled through mountains at all. Occasionally, the vegetation gave way to barren rock faces, especially where the walk grew steeper. These proved a minor challenge that would bore a real climber, though Collins found himself guarding every step. A fall seemed unlikely, but it might result in serious injury; and he had taken more than a few missteps in his life on flat, solid ground.
The weather remained clear. That, and a comfortable sleep, vastly improved Collins' mood. He could almost imagine himself on a youth group hike, scurrying up Mount Chockorua with a backpack, a canteen, and a bunch of rowdy boys. The fear of becoming trapped in a world that condemned him as a vicious murderer receded behind a wash of reckless hope.
Collins met Falima's gaze on several occasions, exchanging short nervous smiles whenever they did so. The strange and silent flirtation passed time otherwise measured only by the slow downward creep of the sun. At length, it touched the far horizon, pitching up broad bands of color that blurred and mingled at the edges, cleared to vivid extremes, then dulled into the next. Bold spikes of pink interrupted the pattern at intervals, radiating in majestic lines.
Collins paused on a crest, staring. Evening breezes chilled the sweat spangling his forehead, and he could not tear his gaze from the beauty of the vast panorama stretching out in front of him. He had never seen anything so grand. The few clear sunsets of his camping days he had viewed through forests of skeletal branches that blotted the grandeur with shadows. City lights blunted the epic, almost violent, hues that now paraded before his eyes. In recent years, he had forgotten to look, his evenings gobbled up by essays and lab work, indoor dinners and rented movies.
"What's the matter?"
Zylas' now-familiar voice startled Collins. He jumped, slammed his foot down on a loose stone, twisted his ankle, and toppled. Before the rat/man could move to assist, Collins lay on the ground. His ankle throbbed, but he still managed to say, "What's the matter? The matter is some guy who calls himself a friend scaring me and dumping me on my face."
Zylas drew back, feigning affront. "I never touched you. You dumped yourself on your own face."
"With incredible grace, I might add." Collins rose gingerly and found he could already put most of his weight on his leg. He was not badly hurt. "Don't sell me short, now. I'm excellent at dumping myself on my face."
Zylas agreed, "A real professional." He offered a hand, though Collins had already stood.
"Mind telling Falima it was your fault? She already thinks I'm a clod."
Zylas glanced toward his flank. "I'd do that, but she does have… um… eyes."
Collins looked around Zylas, only then noticing Falima nearby. She had probably witnessed the entire exchange. He tried to remember which parts of the conversation he had spoken. She could not understand him, but Zylas could come across plainly to both of them. Much like listening to one end of a telephone conversation, she could surely infer much merely from what Zylas had said. But why the hell do I care what she thinks? Collins could not explain it; but, somehow, he did. He looked back at the horizon, but the sky's exquisite light show had dulled toward flat black and the first stars had appeared. He rounded on Zylas. "If you must know, I was enjoying that gorgeous sunset. You made me miss the last of it."
Zylas turned his attention westward, with the air of a man so accustomed to seeing radiance, he no longer notices it.
Of course, Collins surmised. They get sunsets like that every day. In that moment, he grew less fascinated by the life of a models' photographer. It seemed impossible that staring at beautiful women for a living gradually sapped it of all thrill, yet surely it must. Does a man ever tire of looking at an attractive wife? An answer popped swiftly into Collins' mind, though he had never intended to address his own unspoken question. 7 don't stare at Marlys the way I used to, and she's only grown more lovely. In fact, it surprised him to discover that, of all the things he missed most, she barely made the list. If absence makes the heart grow fonder, then either I don't have a heart or she was never really there.
Falima followed the direction of Zylas' stare to the now-blunted sunset. She said something, the slight up-tick at the end Collins' only hint that she had asked a question.
Zylas responded in their lilting language, leaving her nodding thoughtfully.
The albino turned his attention back to Collins. "Ready?"
"To go on?" Collins guessed. "Sure."
Zylas adjusted his breeks. "To meet the elder."
Collins blinked. "Tonight? But I thought…"
Zylas shrugged. "You requested; I asked." He held out a hand, and the hummingbird alighted, tiny talons gripping his index finger. "Ialin says we've lost the guards. The elder thinks we've muddled the trail enough."
Though he had suspected it, Collins barely dared to believe Zylas had dragged out their journey so much that they could chop off an entire day and not even notice it. "Definitely. I'm ready." Finally, he would find out how to get home. Home to professors furious that I ruined all their experiments. He doubted anyone could believe his reason for not taking care of the animals. Each rat had enough water to last several days, and they could go without eating for weeks, if necessary. He wondered if he could get back to Daubert Laboratories before vacation ended; if he cleaned all the cages thoroughly, supplied fresh food sticks and water, no one would know he had gone. The deceit bothered him. It might change the results of some of the analyses, but it seemed preferable to him sacrificing the future he had gone into hock for. A bad relationship, a sundered family, student loans- these all seemed minor inconveniences compared to remaining always a jump ahead of a local constabulary fixated on executing him.
As Zylas headed across a ridge swarming with leafy vines, Collins finally found the argument that might have gotten him to the elder sooner. "You know, Zylas." He tried to keep his voice casual. "I'm the only one taking care of those rats back at the lab for four days."
Zylas continued walking, a stiffening of his back the only clue that he had heard the pronouncement. At length, he spoke. "Are they… are they going to…" It took a real effort to squeeze out the last word. "… die?"
Well, yes. After an experiment, they all die. Collins kept that realization to himself, suddenly wishing he had not raised the topic at all. It seemed cruel to leave Zylas believing he had had a hand in the deaths of a roomful of creatures he considered kin. Initially planning to use the information to help speed things along, Collins suddenly found himself in the position of comforter. "I don't think so. I gave them enough water for at least three days. They might get a bit hungry before the others get back, but they should survive all right." Great. That accomplished a lot.
Zylas' movements became jerky, agitated. Falima glided up and gently placed an arm across his shoulders, speaking calmly.
Collins slammed the heel of his palm against his forehead. Blew that one big time. He tried to simultaneously rescue his point and Zylas, though the two goals seemed entirely at odds.