Two Worlds of Provenance

by Angelina J. Steffort

  Fifty minutes? Her father would not even have heard half of the opening speech. By the time he got home, who knew if she’d still be alive. Who knew what other surprises this dimension—it was hard to even think it, let alone believe it—held for her.

  Commander Scott kept silent for a long second before he spoke. “Sector 13. That’s the third one this month,” he repeated Jemin’s words. “Any idea what it was after?”

  The commander started walking without a warning, and when, after a couple of steps, Jemin wasn’t beside him, his deep voice bellowed impatiently, “Are you coming, Boyd?”

  “If I may, Sir,” Jemin replied apologetically, “I’d like to return to my quarters and get the destroyed pieces fixed first.”

  Commander Scott didn’t stop. “You have ten minutes to clean up, Jemin Boyd. Find me in the councilor’s chambers.”

  Jemin relaxed just to fall into a new tension.

  “Come,” he said and grabbed Maray’s arm. “We need to hurry.”

  Wordlessly, she let him guide her through the archway, never lifting her head, pretending she was invisible when people in armor like Jemin’s rushed by. He took her up a staircase, leading her as if they were hunted by a Yutu, before they turned into a dimly-lit corridor. Their footsteps echoed off the white walls, covering the sound of Maray’s racing heart. Their journey ended when he pushed her through an emerald door and closed it behind them.

  Maray stumbled over the threshold and almost fell, but Jemin’s hand caught her by the shoulder. Maray’s breath got caught in her throat at the force of the impact.

  “You can take off the hood,” he said as he released her and stepped past her to a small basin on a sideboard.

  As she slid out of the fabric, the first thing she saw was a narrow bed with clean, white sheets. A carved, wooden chest stood at the foot end between her and the bed. It looked as if it belonged in a museum, but where the keyhole had been, a shiny, glass-like surface reflected the light in the room.

  “Where are we?” Maray asked and looked around, finding a Renaissance version of a dresser next to a narrow window and then Jemin standing bare-chested at the basin, face dipped into the water.

  Maray swallowed as she laid eyes on the ropes of muscles she had felt under his armor earlier.

  Jemin held his arm out to the side. “Could you hand me that?” He pointed at a towel-like cloth hanging on a plain wooden chair which reminded her oddly of the chairs in her dining room.

  With hesitant fingers, she reached over to grab the towel and put it into Jemin’s waiting hand. He took it and led it to his face first then turned around, drying his hair.

  Maray couldn’t help but stare. Uncovered from blood and dirt, Jemin was stunning: a hint of bronze defined the undertone of his skin, face and forearms a little darker than the rest. His cheekbones, in perfect angles with his eyes and eyebrows, together with the line of his lips, reminded her of someone from a fashion magazine.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” he commented on her open-mouthed staring.

  Caught, Maray blinked, regaining her composure. “Not excessively,” she countered.

  In her old school in D.C., they’d had enough rich prats who thought every girl swooned just because they were in the same room with them. She’d learned to handle them. “How many minutes do you have left, Boyd?” she asked, imitating the commander, and shot Jemin a dark look.

  He dropped the towel and flew to the wooden chest, kneeling down beside Maray, and pressed a finger to the shiny surface that seemed to be the lock. The second it clicked open, he dove into the chest, pulling a similar chainmail-like shirt out, and slipped it over his head. Maray used the moment to study his movements. Every shift, every step, seemed to be deliberate; there was nothing left to coincidence in the way this young man moved.

  Silently, like a cat, he closed the chest and straightened up, stuffing the strange armor under his weapons belt.

  “What is that?” Maray reached out her hand, unable to suppress her own curiosity, and took a fold of Jemin’s armor between her fingers. He tensed under her touch, as if readying himself to fight.

  The fabric felt the same as the first time: light to the touch, soft, and yet it seemed hard enough to keep swords off Jemin’s skin.

  “Thaotine.” He twisted out of her grasp and crossed the narrow space to the dresser. “A carbon-like substance, soft as silk and hard as steel. Unique to this dimension.” He pulled open a drawer and grabbed something out of it, shoving it into his weapons belt. “Once you wear it, you’ll never want to go back.” His hand ran over his arm before he pulled as much of his chin-length hair into a ponytail as would stay there. “Trust me.”

  “So, what’s the plan?” Maray quizzed and pulled her phone out, checking for connectivity. ‘No service,’ it said; and that there was little time for whatever Jemin had in mind.

  “I thought I would have more time,” said Jemin, disappointment weaving into his tone. The first time she’d heard an emotion that plainly from him. He ran his fingers through the rogue honey strands on his forehead and looked at her for a second as if waiting for an epiphany. “I don’t have one.”

  Maray waited for more to come, but he remained silent.

  “One what?” she prompted.

  “A plan.” He lifted his hand again, and this time, she saw that he was wearing a thin bracelet that reminded her of a jewelry watch for women. “Two minutes,” he said, “I need to go.”

  “What about me?” Maray asked, her chest tightening at his words. He was going to leave her behind. “How do I get back home? You still haven’t told me anything.”

  “I’ll send Heck,” he said, restoring his indifferent face. “Promise you’ll sit tight until he is with you.”

  He waited for her reluctant nod before he rushed out the door. “And don’t touch anything.”

  Maray was pacing the limited space in what she believed was Jemin Boyd’s bedroom. His towel was still there on the cupboard beside the basin. With a quick glance out the dark window, she broke her gaze away from the basin-like sink. She had stared at it for minutes, hoping something would give away where the water had come from, but it remained the same metal bowl with ornamentations around the edges.

  Everything in the room seemed to be either from a long past century or from a futuristic movie—or both. What few objects were sitting around on the surfaces were either books or weapons. There was nothing that indicated what this dimension actually was. Or what rules applied here. Maray picked up one of the books on the bedside table and read the title: ‘Gan Krai - Laws and Rituals.’ The words didn’t ring a bell.

  How long had it been since Jemin had left? She pulled her phone from her pocket and glanced at the screen again, hoping that he’d be back soon or that the other person he had announced would keep her company. Maray hated to be left alone. It reminded her of those first days without her mother. The hope she would be coming back, the dread that she wouldn’t, and the final realization that she wouldn’t for sure. It was different with her father. She knew he always returned. He was the closest thing she had to someone she could rely on. Until today, she’d thought she could rely on herself. Recent events had taught her otherwise. This was something she couldn’t get out of by herself. She needed Jemin, and since he said he’d send someone, apparently she needed that someone, too.

  “Not the best of Gan’s works,” a musical voice said behind her, making her drop the book, “but definitely worth a read.”

  She spun around and found herself looking into a pair of twinkling, chocolate-brown eyes.

  “Stab my soul,” the boy said and drew his sword; the same kind of weapon Jemin had held to her throat.

  With a sigh, Maray lifted her hands, palms toward the boy, feeling as if she had a Deja vu, readying herself to have the blade against her throat in a second.

  “Let me guess,” she said, studying the boy’s expression, “I look exactly like someone you know, and you wonder how that’s possible.”

&nb
sp; The boy’s eyes widened, all twinkle gone, yet he didn’t threaten her but placed the tip of the sword on the floor, rested both of his hands on the hilt, and knelt. “Forgive my bold words, Your Majesty. I wasn’t prepared to stand in your glorious presence.”

  “Excuse me—what?” Maray thought aloud. For the first time today, she felt like laughing.

  The boy peeked up at her reaction, confusion spreading on his handsome features. He looked a bit the way she imagined a knight of the roundtable would in his Thaotine armor and his leather gloves with cut-off fingers—just a more exotic version with olive skin and locks of ebony that fell into his face.

  “Your Majesty,” he said, seeming a bit lost, “I don’t understand.”

  Maray felt a pang of sympathy for the kneeling boy and reached out a hand to him, offering to help him up.

  “Your Majesty…” He flinched away from it. “I am not worthy of your help.”

  “I have no idea why you’re calling me ‘Your Majesty’.” Maray grabbed his hand and pulled him up. He got to his feet obediently. “Did Jemin send you?” she asked, uncomfortable at the boy’s stare.

  He nodded, apparently unsure what to call her if he couldn’t call her Majesty.

  “Your name is Heck?” she asked, remembering that Jemin had mentioned it.

  The boy nodded again, fidgeting under her glance. “Heck—Hendrick Brendal—” he inclined his head, “at your service.”

  “Maray Johnson.” She extended her hand, under the impression a handshake was a formality Heck would expect, and held back a grin of awkwardness when he scooped up her hand with his fingers, carefully leading it to his lips, and bent down to breathe a kiss onto the back of her hand. “What are you doing?” Maray pulled back her arm, ripping her fingers out of Heck’s reach. “What did Jemin tell you?”

  Heck stared in shock, and his cheeks burned crimson in embarrassment.

  “I apologize for my wrongdoing,” he said with a quick glance at Maray’s hand before lowering his gaze. “Jemin told me he had a problem in his room he wanted me to take care of.”

  “Me,” Maray concluded aloud. “I’m the problem.”

  “I don’t understand why Her Majesty would ever consider herself a problem,” Heck murmured.

  “And I don’t understand why you keep calling me ‘Your Majesty’,” Maray stated, losing her patience. “I am not anyone’s Majesty. Jemin brought me here from a different dimension after killing one of those giant wolf-bears.” She used her hands to amplify the word. “He said it would be safe here—and then, he left me here to wait for you.”

  Heck listened with wide eyes, his mouth twitching upward at the corners as she spoke.

  “What’s so funny now?” she asked, all of a sudden feeling self-conscious. The way he was looking at her had changed. It wasn’t the same respectful gaze from the beginning, but he looked at her as if at a new person.

  “For a moment, I thought this was like the other problems Jem needs me to take care of.” He shoved his sword into its shaft.

  “What do you mean, ‘other problems’?”

  Heck didn’t answer her question, instead glancing at the neatly-made bed behind her.

  “So, he found you in the other dimension?” he asked, all formality gone from his demeanor as he stepped closer to eye her face. It wasn’t the same, cold, appraising look Jemin had given her, but it did feel nearly as uncomfortable. “No wonder he brought you here.”

  “Would you mind?” Maray stepped aside, putting more space between the two of them. “I know there is something wrong about the way I look. Jemin mentioned something…”

  “I can assure you there is nothing wrong with the way you look,” Heck interjected with a grin.

  “That’s not what I mean,” Maray cut him off before he could make it worse. “Jemin said something about me looking exactly like someone, just younger.” She watched comprehension spread across Heck’s face. “What did he mean?”

  “This is the first time you’ve ever come to Allinan,” he concluded, “right?”

  Maray nodded and wished she had never left the apartment. She could still be sitting in the loft-like place, musing about apricot-jelly. Instead, she had to find out her Snow White face wasn’t as unique as she’d always thought.

  “You have never seen a picture of the queen regent.”

  He was also right about that.

  With a quick stride, Heck squeezed past her and pulled opened the bedside table to pull something out, then turned on his heels, holding up a square object. A picture.

  Maray’s face was smiling back at her from the frame with the dignity of a royal. She grabbed the wooden frame in both hands and turned around to stare at herself in private.

  “That’s impossible,” she exclaimed. Only, it wasn’t. She was holding a picture of herself that had never been taken. “Who is this?”

  Heck didn’t respond but wandered around her until he faced her again, waiting for her to make the connection.

  “The queen?” she asked in shock.

  “The queen,” he confirmed and displayed the mockery of a bow, “Your Majesty.”

  At least Heck’s reaction made sense now.

  “You thought Jemin had the queen in his bedroom?” She wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about that proposition.

  “You never know with Jem,” was all the answer she got, and that for certain made her stomach tighten. Not that it mattered. For all she knew, Jemin couldn’t care less about what happened to her.

  “So, the queen?” Maray wiped away all emotions and tried to focus on finding out as much as she could about this dimension-hopping thing—and her queen-doppelgänger.

  “Yes, the queen. At least that’s what she looked like last time someone saw her in person.”

  Maray threw him a questioning look.

  “There are only three people who have seen her in the past eighteen years.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “She keeps to her chambers, only letting in the most trusted of her servants. And when she speaks to the rest, she speaks through a curtain.”

  Maray pondered his words for a while, staring at the picture. The same black hair as hers was twisted up on the queen’s neck in a braided bun. A thin, silver crown rested above, sparkling with gems as did the silver staff she held in her hand. It was as if looking at herself in a costume.

  “If no one has really seen her in years, how do you know what she looks like? You only have this picture.” She held up the photograph.

  “That’s what she looked like at the age of twenty-one, long before she started to hide in her chambers. That’s the image we swear our oath to.”

  Maray stared at him in disbelief.

  “Unfortunately for you,” Heck said with a line of concern between his eyebrows, “the queen doesn’t seem to be the forgiving type.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” She would find it much easier to deal with the situation if these people wouldn’t speak in riddles all of the time.

  “She wouldn’t like to hear there is another version of her running around in Allinan. That’s why Jem is hiding you here.” Heck carefully took the picture from Maray’s hand and gestured at the red-dressed version of her. “If any of the queen’s advisers saw you, you would end up in the dungeons.”

  “Dungeons?” Maray heard her voice climb up in distress. “You guys have dungeons here? This doesn’t look like a medieval castle, more like eighteen-hundreds.”

  “Doesn’t mean the queen doesn’t have special places for special prisoners.” He winked as if having done her a favor by giving her this information.

  “I am not a prisoner,” she pointed out, earning a doubting look from Heck.

  “Oh… aren’t you?”

  “No.” Maray folded her arms across her chest, regarding him matter-of-factly. “I preferred when you called me ‘Your Majesty’.”

  Heck laughed a hearty laugh. “Just joking.” He patted her arm. “You’ve got nothing to worry about
from me. I’d never betray Jem.”

  “Good to know,” Maray said, still not entirely sure if the handsome boy was going to help her or not. “Doesn’t solve our problem, though.”

  “What’s the exact problem?”

  “How do I get back to my father?”

  Heck smiled, but his eyes were serious. “You really don’t know anything about our dimension,” he said and handed the picture back to Maray.

  “Well, I’ve learned about Yutu, Thaotine, and an inaccessible queen who supposedly looks like me. I wouldn’t call that nothing.” She lowered the picture and sat on the edge of Jemin’s bed. “But it’s nothing that would help me return home.”

  Heck sat beside her—a big enough gap to seat a Yutu between them—and eyed her from the side. “I will do my best to help you,” he promised, and his words soothed her. They reminded her of the brother she’d always wished she had.

  “While we are waiting for Jem,” he grinned at her, “you might as well tell me a little bit more about you.”

  There wasn’t much to tell; at least nothing she’d want to share with a stranger.

  “Ordinary girl, ordinary life,” she summarized and earned a quizzical look.

  “That sounds like a mantra, not like your life story,” Heck commented and eyed her expectantly.

  “Let’s start the other way around,” Maray suggested, hoping she’d be able to avoid sharing the painful story of her youth with the grinning boy. “What about you? Did you grow up in court?”

  “If you were from Allinan, you wouldn’t need to ask,” he explained. “Every Allinan child knows that the Brendal family has a long history in the guard of the crown.” He automatically straightened up as he mentioned his heritage, pride entering his voice. “My father and grandfather served the queen in the first breach of dimensions when the demons of each side were crossing over to the other side.”

  Maray gave him an appreciative look even though his words didn’t make sense to her, hoping to not offend him with her lack of knowledge. Demons?