Between Worlds

by Melissa Mead

  "Well, if the humans haven't woken up yet, we could..."

  "Too late.” Kimo pointed. “See? They're moving.” He peered down the slope in heedless fascination. “Was your Grandpa that big and hairy? What are all the bones for?"

  "That was a rabbit.” Miska swallowed her nausea. “Kimo, how much have you learned about Worldwalking?"

  "What you think and feel, you can see and touch in the Second World,” Kimo parroted. “Your mind is your body; your body is your mind.” He wolfed down the last of the raisins. “If you stay too long you'll pop like a bubble and never come back."

  "Have you practiced?” The cracking from below sounded louder.

  "Lots of times! Well, only with somebody with me. Somebody really good at it."

  "Then it's time for a more advanced lesson. Take my hand."

  He took her fingertips in his own sticky hand, and pointed with the other. “Do I need to tap my foot, too?"

  "Never mind that!” Miska clapped her free hand over her mouth. She hadn't meant to yell. “All right. We'll do this as simply as possible. Keep hold of my hand. Don't try to change your shape, or anything else. Just try to keep your thoughts calm, so you don't disturb the path, and follow me."

  "Yes, Eldest Bossy One.” Kimo kicked a rock.

  "Ready? Steady your breathing. One ... two ... three!

  They were across, into a world of double vision. Miska swayed on her invisible feet, looking for familiar landmarks among Kimo's wilder, darker imagery. The path home shone clear through a tangle of thorns and jagged rocks. Even the lowering crimson sky didn't bloody its silvery light.

  "Easy path home!” Miska laughed with relief. “You did well, Kimo! Just stay with me and we'll be..."

  "Our bodies!” Kimo wailed, pointing to their lingering silhouettes on the cliffside. “The Humans will see them!” A gaping crack split the path just ahead of them.

  "They'll think it's ghosts. Doddi said Humans are afraid of ghosts. Come on, one step, then another. Don't look behind us. Our real bodies will be waiting for us at home. Stay calm."

  They got about half a dozen paces before they heard the voices, muffled and distorted by the passage between worlds.

  "What's that? A glass statue?"

  "Maybe it's ghosts.” That voice was hesitant.

  "In daylight? Nah.” Sounds of crunching, and sliding rock. “I'm gonna check it out."

  "Miska...” Kimo whined. Tiny snakes coiled up from the path, wriggling helplessly on the glassy surface.

  "Just keep going. They can't do any real harm as long as we..."

  "We have to stop them!” Kimo wrenched his hand from hers. From below, Miska heard a surprised bellow from the humans. Reality, thrown abruptly off balance, stretched and snapped back, hurling Miska into spinning, uncontrollable chaos.

  Chapter 4

  Miska landed face down in hard, gravity-crushed reality, head and stomach spinning. It was cold. Something roared in her ears. Everything smelled of dead fish. She tried turning her head, and threw up.

  "Are you all right, little girl?” Not a voice she knew. Such a thick Human accent, stranger even than Doddi Jakki's.

  Miska opened her eyes, searching for the owner of the voice. She saw the toes of two embroidered silken slippers. She rolled over. Endless open sky glared above her. She squinted, fighting an absurd urge to cling to the ground so she wouldn't fall off. Someone bent over her, her nose wrinkled in disgust but her eyes concerned. Dark, gentle eyes in a face the color of chakhali. A familiar face. The girl from the Mirror.

  "Ah, good.” Miska mumbled. “You're all right. I worried, when you fell in the river."

  The girl started backward. “What did you say?"

  "A day ago ... maybe two ... when you were getting on the big boat.” Miska sat up, slowly. The girl watched as though Miska were rising from the dead. “You fell in. I thought you might get sick, the river's so cold. Your pretty red dress must be ruined."

  "How could you know about that? How could you?” The girl's voice cracked. “Who are you?"

  Miska got to her feet. Common sense returned with balance. This was a human, and of the kind from the ships to boot. The backlash from falling between worlds must have thrown her into the little village. She'd already broken most of the Trading rules by being caught here alone, uncovered, and speaking to an unknown Human. All logic told her to run, hide, and not give away anything more. But she made another mistake. She looked at the girl.

  She was more than half a foot taller than Miska, well-dressed, well-fed ... and trembling like a blind kitten.

  "I shouldn't have come ... I should never have come.” The girl shuddered. “The sailors said there were sea-people, and imps, and ... Get away from me!"

  "I won't harm you.” Miska held up both open hands. “Thank you for offering to help me."

  "I ... you're welcome.” Now it was the girl who looked thrown off balance. “Do you need help? Where are your parents?"

  I could ask you the same thing, Miska thought. No Kankenni mother or father would send her child off alone, to half-drown in strange rivers. “They died,” she answered simply.

  "Oh!” The girl's eyes grew even wider.

  I think I was right after all, Miska thought. This Human's a child, for all she's so big. And kindhearted. If...

  "Lindi!” The girl turned. Miska followed her glance. Two more Humans were coming toward them, waving and smiling. A tall woman with auburn-streaked gray hair, and a portly man as dark as Lindi. Both wore bright silks that drew every eye toward them, partly covered with rich fur coats. Miska dodged behind a stack of crates and watched.

  "Lindilora?” The woman paused just long enough for a nod of confirmation, and nearly crushed the girl in a hug, which the man followed up with a second. “How you've grown! It's so good to see you again. You must be freezing in that dress—here, put on my coat—no, really, I'm used to this weather. How are you? Don't tell me your parents let you travel all this way alone!"

  "Thank you, Aunt Doria. No, Mother sent Cara with me, but she stayed in Millrace. Wait! Aunt Doria, Uncle Aldinan ... This is ... Where'd she go?"

  "Where'd who go, Lindi?” Her uncle looked around, confused.

  "There was a little girl ... in such a raggedy dress, and an old-fashioned cloak. Velvet, I think. She had such a funny accent, like in the Temple chants. She was here a minute ago."

  "What was her name?” Now Doria was looking curious too. Miska edged in further behind the boxes.

  "I ... I don't know."

  Now Aldinan frowned. “Could this be part of the ... problem ... your mother mentioned?"

  "No! She was real. Besides, I don't see people. Just spots. Really."

  "Hm."

  "Uncle Aldi!” Lindi turned away from her uncle, searching. “I didn't imagine her. She must be somewhere nearby, and she's probably freezing."

  Miska held her breath, willing herself to perfect stillness. She drew Motes about her like gauze, and watched, left foot twitching, as Lindi's gaze passed over her.

  "I don't understand. She was right here!"

  "Well, it won't help anyone for us to stand here in the cold.” Doria chafed her hands briskly. “Come on; it's getting late. The chevrals will get balky if they think we've left them. We'll get you settled, and talk over hot cocoa."

  The group moved away, still chatting, though Lindi glanced back over her shoulder twice. Miska stayed out of sight until all traffic had vanished.

  Three days walk back home from the village. Was Kimo here? Or had the humans caught him? They might be taking Kimo back here, and she might find them on the way. She might be able to save Kimo from them. If they hadn't killed the boy outright. If...

  Miska stepped out from her hiding place and looked around. And up. And up further still, while her heart sank. Ahead of her towered an immense pillar of rock, with a spiral road cut into its sides. From this angle, she couldn't even see the lights on top. The roaring sound came from endless waves, foaming around the docks where
she stood.

  This wasn't the little village. She wasn't three days walk from home.

  She was in the “Great Human City,” and completely lost. Kimo was nowhere in sight.

  Only curiosity saved Miska from despair. From behind the stack of crates, she stared out, fascinated, at a world she'd only known from Doddi Jakki's stories. Secretly, she'd always wondered if half of them were really true. Now she saw for herself: houses two and even three stories high, with smoke curling over their tiled roofs. Birds squealing and crying as they dove for bits of fish. Slender trees, bowing before the frosty wind. Rows of lanterns, swinging on high poles, lining the stone streets.

  A wagon, pulled by chevrals like Trippy and Trompey, rumbled by. Bells jangled along its sides. Crowds of Humans, huddled in coats and capes of wool, fur, or heavy velvet, moved aside for it. Miska tried to follow the babble of their talk, but there were just too many voices. Never had she seen so many people in one place, all so different. Kankenni—except for her—were mostly the same size, slender, gold-eyed and either Day- or Night-haired, with only beauty marks for variety. While humans—just from here, she could see more variety in people than she'd ever seen before. Thin as staves, or nearly round. Skin like sandstone or chakhali or amber or alabaster. Curly or straight hair, inky or golden or mahogany or gray—but with no ribbons in it. There was wonder enough to marvel at, without even considering their clothing. Some in warm furs. Others, mostly unnoticed, in clothes little better than sacking. Flowing dresses, shining boots ... And they were all so tall! Miska could see some near her own size, some well over a foot taller. Her awe and wonder slowly turned to dismay. Literally, and in her spirit, she'd never felt so small. Even if Kimo had been thrown into the Human city too, how would she ever find him in this great chaotic dance?

  Worse yet, it began to sleet fitfully, plastering her thin dress to her skin. Now she was lost, damp, cold ... and bitterly hungry. She sniffed, and caught a teasing whiff of new bread. It was irresistible. Wrapping her cloak around her a bit tighter, Miska followed the scent and wandered into the street. A cart thundered by.

  "Look out, kid!” the driver yelled. Miska dodged out of the way, flattening herself against the side of the nearest building. She stood frozen for a moment, feeling her pulse hammer inside her ears. Then, more cautiously, she followed the tantalizing yeasty scent. If Kimo was anywhere nearby, this would surely draw him.

  She followed her nose to a broad plaza, roofed in red and gold striped cloth. Even more people milled about here, and carts and carriages waited outside. She hesitated before venturing into that seething throng ... until one figure caught her eye. Wild haired, gangly ... he faced away from her, but she knew. “Kimo!"

  Did he stiffen, just before vanishing into the crowd? She couldn't tell. Miska dashed into the plaza, jostling and stepping on feet, but the boy was gone. Several Humans turned irritated looks on her.

  "Don't step on the eggs!” someone snapped.

  Miska looked down, and around. All around the square, Humans had laid out bright mats and piled them with fruit, vegetables, and loaves of bread. Right at her feet, a wrinkled, balding man had arranged a perfect pyramid of alternating white and brown eggs.

  "I'm sorry. How pretty!” she said, stepping back. Now she was remembering. Market Day. Doddi Jakki had told her many stories of it—usually when he came home with sacks full of crusty bread or sweet, cidery apples.

  The egg vendor chuckled, mollified.

  "That's all right, lass. No harm done. It's nice to see someone still appreciates presentation, these days. Now some folks—I'll name no names—they don't even bother to wash their carrots and beets and such before selling ‘em. Disgraceful."

  Miska nodded, scanning the market for Kimo.

  "...And not all would apologize to an old man as civil as you just did, neither. That dirty-faced little boy that ran through here a minute ago..."

  "Oh! Did you see him? Which way did he go?"

  The old man looked affronted, but pointed. “Towards the bakers. Rude little fellow. Nearly ran smack into me, he did, and just kept on running."

  "I'm so sorry. He's my ... cousin. If you'll excuse me, I'll go find him, and see that he stays out of trouble."

  At the vendor's approving nod, Miska headed for the baker's quarter, looking about her in wonderment. This was nothing like the dusty clapboard shops in Abri's stories of the little village. This place had tents and canopies of woolen and silken cloth, gold and rose and violet and teal. It was like a tiny village within the city, under its own red and gold striped sky. Over here, a young woman set out pots of milk with cream floating on top. There, a fishmonger laid silver trout on a bed of clean snow. An enterprising vendor juggled oranges and limes to catch the eyes of passers-by. Pipers wandered through the crowd, skirling jaunty tunes. A spice vendor poured aromatic piles of ginger, coriander, cinnamon and nutmeg into crackling twists of paper. A boy near Kimo's age turned sizzling spits of onions and peppered meat over a brazier. The tantalizing scent nearly overwhelmed her.

  Miska felt a prickling at the back of her neck. She lingered by a toymaker's booth, admiring spinning-tops, whistles and paint boxes, all the while watching the crowd out of the corner of her eye. Everywhere she turned, one man was always just behind her. A thin man, with slick dark hair and narrow eyes. Miska could never quite see his face. She moved on to the next booth—a baker's booth. It was easy to look as though she'd come there on purpose—the sweet aroma would have drawn her even if she weren't already hungry.

  The man followed. Trying to look unconcerned, Miska studied a display of currant-studded muffins. The pockmarked, straw-haired woman standing guard behind them eyed her shrewdly.

  "Three bits each, love."

  Bits of what? Miska thought hard. The P'raptoi traded with gems, inert and easy to make. Perhaps that would do. She knelt and picked up a pebble.

  "What color, Cousin?” she asked the bewildered woman.

  "Brass, silver, pearls if you have ‘em ... I don't care. What are you doing? And I'm not your cousin!"

  Miska tossed the pebble from hand to hand, refocusing her eyes until the Motes were plainly visible. There were thousands of them, swirls and streams and galaxies of them. Even knowing how Motes followed living things, and seeing all these people in one place, Miska was awed at how many there were. And relieved. She could hardly Cross in front of all these Humans, even if she weren't exhausted. This would be so much easier. Why go to the cistern for water, when you're standing in a river? She held the pebble over her head and brought her arm down with just a little flourish, wrapping the bit of rock in Motes as though the tiny lights were a wisp of gossamer. She pressed the stone tight into her palm, and then dropped it in front of the baker—a perfect topaz.

  "You said three, Cousin?” Miska asked, breathing hard. Even that little change had tired her. Abri had told her of getting a whole sack of grain for just one stone. Perhaps it was because of the currants...

  The baker's face looked bloodless. Her mouth opened and closed, opened and closed. She backed away from the topaz as though it were a smoldering coal.

  "By the Stars!” she swore.

  A crowd had gathered, pressing in closer and tighter. Miska glimpsed the thin man near the front, staring, licking his narrow lips. Miska looked wildly for somewhere to bolt, but a forest of legs and waving arms penned her in. Everyone shouted at once.

  "What's all the racket?"

  "Stop yelling, you apes!"

  "Whassamatter, Spensie? Not those thugs in the black triangle getup again?"

  "Looks like a kid ... Stealing, I'll bet."

  "Want me to call the Temple guards, Spensie?"

  Someone grabbed Miska's arm. The biggest Human Miska had ever seen—with enormous, cold hands. Reflexively, she tried to pull away, and the man squeezed harder.

  "I didn't steal! I don't..."

  "Hey Spensie! I brought the Scribe kid. He's Temple, and better than nothing,” someone bellowed.

 
Something moved through the chaos, leaving quiet where it passed. The crowd—all but the man clenching Miska by the shoulder—fell away. Miska ignored the throbbing in her arm, waiting to see why they were all staring so avidly. What kind of fearsome creature was “Temple?"

  The figure came closer. It wasn't ten feet tall. It didn't spit lava. “Temple” was merely a young man, sandy-haired, and dressed in pale gray, with a small silver flame pinned over his heart. He carried a wooden staff in his left hand.

  At first Miska thought he was a P'raptoi. Then she saw that the staff was not topped with red ribbons, but with a carving of a roaring lion's head. The young man leaned heavily on it, dragging his right leg. A walking stick!

  And a gray cloak. Miska shuddered. Was this one of the Humans who'd killed Naneri?

  She watched the human look over the little tableau. His gaze, impassive, traveled over Spensie the baker woman, still red-faced with indignation, the shuffling crowd, the beefy man hanging onto Miska like a mastiff with a shank bone, and down to Miska herself. Miska raised a questioning eyebrow at him, and a corner of the boy's mouth quirked up in response. No, not a killer. Not a boy, either. No more a boy than young Lindi was a little girl. Older than Lindi, perhaps? A young man.

  "How much did she take, Spensie?” he asked the baker.

  "It's not what she took, Juliar. It's...” Spensie looked less certain of her ground. “It's what she gave."

  Juliar shifted position slightly. “Really? What'd she give you?"

  "That.” Spensie didn't touch the topaz, just pointed.

  "Nice.” Juliar picked the gem up and rolled it between his fingers, making it sparkle. “So you think she stole it?"