Between Worlds

by Skip Brittenham

  The river was flanked by muddy banks overgrown with giant rubbery plants, which looked more like jellyfish or coral than Earth flora. Vines tipped with pink flowers as big as dinner plates hung down from trees. Small orange creatures that looked like marsupials, except for their extra sets of arms and legs, skittered up and down the vines, clutching clumps of pale blue nuts. A hairless yellow animal with two chimpanzee-like heads watched them go by from a perch on a high branch, balancing itself with two prehensile tails.

  Mayberry finally broke the silence. “The Wishing Tree must be some kind of portal. It sent us to exactly the kind of world we asked for.”

  “Yeah, but the Tree forgot the fun part of our wish,” Marshall said. “We’re definitely not superheroes. And we can’t do magic. But the day is young. Do you think we’ll find a way home . . . eventually?”

  Mayberry nodded. “If we can get back to the aspen forest, we’ll use the Tree here to take us back to the Tree on Earth. Easy.”

  Sure, he thought. Easy. They were floating in a primordial forest, a hidden Eden, but without the tools or weapons that they needed to help them survive. Marshall was scared, dreading each bend in the river. While nothing had tried to kill them in the last few minutes, he doubted the trend would last long.

  The current sped up as they headed into a narrow chute that flowed between two enormous boulders. Waves bounced off the shoulders of the stones, rocking the tree violently.

  “Hang on!” he screamed at Mayberry.

  “What do you think I’m doing?”

  A thicket of branches near the top of the tree snagged on a sharp outcropping that poked from one of the boulders, bending the whole mass backward. The thicket torqued sharply, then flipped and rolled the tree half over, causing a number of branches to groan and snap. One broken branch spiked down, shearing off the limb Mayberry was clinging to, plunging her into the water.

  Marshall pushed off the limb and dove backward. A branch caught at the cuff of his shirt as he stroked toward the surface, but he managed to wrench free. His head burst from the water, and he gratefully sucked in a lungful of air. In the turmoil, his glasses had slipped off and disappeared in the current. Blinking, he strained his watery eyes as he searched anxiously for Mayberry.

  A series of splashes downstream caught his eye. There she was. His wet clothing weighed him down, making every windmilling stroke difficult, every inch of progress a struggle. But he didn’t have enough time to stop and unhitch the backpack; he couldn’t afford to lose sight of her. He watched her flailing below him, so bewildered that she was inadvertently trying to swim against the current.

  Marshall streaked downstream past her, and then swung around below her. He held out his left arm and let the current carry her to him. Mayberry had swallowed a lot of water, and her eyes were growing dim. Marshall cupped his right hand under her chin to hold her head above the current, then scissor-kicked for shore as hard as he could until they were floating below a deep-cut bank.

  He managed to grab a bunch of the thick grass hanging over the bank’s edge, but the force of the current combined with Mayberry’s deadweight broke the blades, which sliced into his skin like shards of glass. Blood flowed freely from the wounds, reminding him that there were creatures—some big enough to swallow them whole—lurking in this river.

  Exhausted and nearing the end of his endurance, Marshall picked out a muddy, low-lying bank ahead. He gathered his remaining strength for one final push, knowing this was his last chance, and swam hard for it, holding Mayberry tightly across his chest. He narrowly made it to the bank and reached over to punch his free hand into the mud. He clawed at the slick mud but couldn’t gain any purchase, nor could he find anything else that was solid enough to stop his progress downriver. He would never let Mayberry go, which meant they were both doomed.

  As Marshall steeled himself for the inevitable end, a pair of huge, hairy hands poked through the underbrush and stretched out to him, palms up. From his vantage point, all he could see were the hands and the long, sinewy muscular arms attached to them. Marshall extended an arm, and soon strong fingers had circled his outreached wrist, closing on it like an iron vise.

  Incredibly strong arms and shoulders flexed, easily hauling them both onto the bank before gently releasing them. They were saved. But by what?

  As he stared past the riverbank, he saw the huge back of a gray river monster break the surface, then disappear, right at the spot he and Mayberry had just vacated.

  CHAPTER 17

  THANKS, MARSHALL,” Mayberry said, lying on her back, thirsty for breath. “I w-wasn’t ready—didn’t have time to catch my breath.”

  “Yeah,” he mumbled, staring over her shoulder. “But we had a little help.”

  She blinked and looked around. Something rustled the tall bushes nearby. As it emerged, she saw that it was a who, not a what . . . or maybe it was something in between.

  The creature was vaguely humanoid, with a short, sloping forehead, protruding lower jaw, and broad nose. It was the first biped she’d seen here. Looks like a Bigfoot, she thought. This one was undoubtedly male, heavily muscled, and at least eight feet tall. His face and body were covered by coarse gray hair marked by bluish stripes. He wore a leathery loincloth held up by a woven rope tied around his waist.

  He stared at them, curiosity sparkling in his pale gray eyes, while Mayberry and Marshall took in his polished bone necklace and the leather bindings wrapped around his arms. The creature bent over and lifted up a wooden war hammer that had dozens of sharp ivory spikes jutting from its business end. The spikes looked oddly familiar, and after a moment’s reflection, Mayberry realized they might be teeth torn from one of the water carnivores.

  Marshall squared his shoulders, straightening up a little taller, and said, “Thank you,” adding a courteous bow for emphasis.

  The not-quite-human blinked, then made a beckoning gesture with one of his enormous hands. He turned away and began shoving through the brush.

  “You want to go with him?” Marshall asked.

  “Well, he did save us, and he definitely looks capable of protecting us.”

  Mayberry noticed that Marshall had lost his glasses. He only needed them for reading, so it wasn’t such bad luck; he wouldn’t be doing any of that here. He looked cuter without them, but now wasn’t the time to think about that, or about the fact that he’d risked his life to save her.

  Marshall helped Mayberry up, and they began to follow the strange humanoid picking his way through the thick, thorny bushes. The light breeze whispering through the leaves and the sharp buzzing of strange insects were the only sounds that marked their passage. Finally, they broke into a grassy clearing surrounded by dark green trunks lined with long, sharp spikes. The humanoid stopped. From the shadows, others of his kind, both male and female, emerged into the sunlight. They were all tall and lean and armed with clubs, spears, and other wicked-looking weapons.

  The humanoid that had saved them gestured again, then continued walking through the trees. Exhausted and frightened, but feeling lucky to be alive after her harrowing day, Mayberry fell into step behind the creature and Marshall.

  CHAPTER 18

  THE LEAD CREATURE turned his head and, looking directly at the humans, made a series of trilling noises: his first vocalizations. The voice, especially for a creature his size, was surprisingly high-pitched. His language, if these sounds represented a language, wasn’t one that Marshall and Mayberry were able to decipher.

  “I don’t understand,” Mayberry said, shrugging and holding out her hands.

  The creature emitted more squeaks. A couple of the others joined in.

  “Okay,” Marshall said, stepping forward. “This always works in the old Tarzan movies.”

  He tapped his chest a few times with an index finger.

  “Marshall . . . Marshall . . . Marshall.” Then he pointed to her. “Mayberry . . . Mayberry.”


  Mayberry tapped her own chest and repeated her name.

  The creatures stopped chattering and listened.

  The one who saved them cocked his head slightly, then touched his own chest, answering in a squeaky cough, “Kellain.” He repeated it a couple of times, until they could make it out clearly.

  “Kellain?” Marshall said, pointing at him.

  “Kellain,” he echoed.

  “Kellain,” Mayberry repeated.

  The creature bounced excitedly from one foot to the other, and it looked to her like he was smiling.

  “Marshall,” Kellain said, sounding like he was speaking it with a mouthful of pebbles, but the essence of the name came through.

  “Marshall,” some of the others echoed.

  “Mayberry,” Kellain shouted, pointing at her. “Mayberry.”

  Her name sounded like “Myrthairy” coming from his mouth, but it was close enough. Exchanging names felt like a diplomatic breakthrough. Not quite world peace, but close. Both species’ body language got looser, and the threat posed by the creatures’ sheer size and numbers—and spiked clubs—started to fade in Mayberry’s mind. Still, she guessed that they hadn’t yet determined the status of humans in the hierarchy, which sparked another idea.

  “Humans,” she said, pointing at herself and Marshall, conveying the simple notion she meant to include both of them. “Humans. Humans.”

  Kellain’s face brightened.

  He smiled and waved his open hands to encompass his comrades. “Slevicc. Slevicc. Kellain Slevicc. Kendorsh Slevicc. Gallail Slevicc. Lonkee Slevicc.”

  After more happy head shaking by the Sleviccs, Kellain gestured for Mayberry and Marshall to follow him, then turned into the forest.

  They hiked in single file—Kellain, Marshall, Mayberry, and the other Sleviccs—through the cool shade created by the canopy of jellyfish-plants. Mayberry inhaled deeply through her nose, then exhaled slowly through her mouth, a trick to reduce stress she had learned from her mom’s yoga teacher. When would this madness finally end? Obviously, playfully goofing around under the Wishing Tree, she’d mistakenly wished herself here, but she’d never ever missed being home with her family this much.

  The Sleviccs traveled a well-trod path that twisted through a series of low, grassy hills. They touched Marshall and Mayberry only when coming to aid them on particularly steep sections of the trail, or to help them get past other obstacles for which the small humans needed assistance. Finally, the trail dead-ended at the base of a rough chalk cliff with well-worn petroglyphs of bulky creatures carved into its base, none of which she recognized.

  “That’ll take some fancy climbing,” Marshall remarked, shaking his head as he looked up at the fifteen-foot ascent.

  The Slevicc in front stopped at the base of the cliff, looked up at its top, and began to make rapid chopping motions with his hands. Then, he grew taller. It took Mayberry a moment to realize that the Slevicc’s head wasn’t stretching up from his neck; his feet and body had actually lifted from the ground—he’d floated straight up. In seconds, he’d reached the top of the cliff and stepped onto its ledge.

  The next Slevicc male in line made the same slicing motions, then sailed up. A female followed. Kellain gestured for Marshall to go next.

  Marshall shook his head and pantomimed a sad face, but Kellain just stood there, waiting patiently.

  “Sorry, pal. We don’t fly,” Mayberry said, shaking her head.

  Marshall rolled his shoulders forward and stepped up to the base of the cliff.

  “Guess it’s worth a try,” he said to Mayberry.

  He moved his hands, mimicking the Sleviccs’ motions as best he could. Nothing happened.

  “Now what?” he asked.

  Kellain grunted, and two large males came forward. They each grabbed one of Marshall’s arms and made the chopping gestures with the hands that weren’t holding him.

  One instant, the ground was firm and solid beneath Marshall’s feet, and then they were floating.

  In seconds they were at the top of the ridge, and Marshall stepped forward, planting his sneakers on solid ground again.

  Kellain and another Slevicc moved to either side of Mayberry.

  “Don’t worry,” Marshall yelled down, smiling broadly for the first time since being chased by the horned beast.

  “Worry?” Her eyes were shining with excitement. “I can’t wait.” As she wafted upward, held by the Sleviccs, she giggled so hard her cheeks turned pink.

  “I really hope we can figure out how to do this on our own,” she said to Marshall once her feet hit the earth.

  “It would definitely come in handy,” he replied smoothly, without a trace of irony.

  CHAPTER 19

  KELLAIN LED THE WAY to a brush-covered rise a few hundred yards ahead. When he reached the crest of the hill, he froze, then dropped to the ground and flattened his body. He turned with a hand clamped over his mouth and extended his other hand, palm down, and pumped it up and down. All the other Sleviccs dropped, as did Mayberry and Marshall.

  Looking over his shoulder with his eyes narrowed, Kellain gently motioned for the two humans to crawl up and join him. They crept forward stealthily, and when Marshall’s head was level with Kellain’s, he lifted it just enough to peer into the deep valley.

  “What do you see?” Mayberry whispered, her head still pressed into the grass.

  Marshall pushed forward a bit, so he could make sense of the jumble of shapes below. Marching along the valley floor was a band of at least fifty brick-red creatures that had squat, heavily muscled bodies. Multicolored markings appeared on their shoulders, backs and arms, but Marshall couldn’t tell if they were natural or tattooed.

  It took a moment for the kaleidoscope of images to register and unscramble. When they did, his brain recorded the sharp curving tusks that jutted from the creatures’ jaws. They were tapered to wicked points, clearly designed to rend and rip. The ferocious-looking army brandished a variety of spears, clubs, hammers, and rough wooden swords. Topping off the horrifying tableau were long stakes topped with bleached skulls being carried by at least a dozen of the creatures. Based on their size and configuration, it seemed like some of the skulls had come from Sleviccs.

  As if the appalling scene wasn’t scary enough, cougar-size reptiles held by crude collars and leather leashes padded alongside them. The creatures’ jagged brown fangs were pressed low to the ground as they sniffed the earth like bloodhounds.

  This was clearly a war party on the march. Marshall was so taken aback that he couldn’t utter a word, so Mayberry inched forward and lifted her head to assess the scene herself.

  After the troop of beasts disappeared, Kellain grimaced and shook his head. “Heeturs,” he grumbled unhappily.

  After this incident, their procession crept away from the rise, then got up silently; there was no more of the Sleviccs’ comforting chatter.

  Hours later, as they emerged from a thicket of blue-stalked plants, Marshall spotted a village at the top of a narrow plateau. They walked toward a thick perimeter of interwoven thorn bushes, which protected the village from intruders. The only visible entrance was a tall wooden door bristling with spikes; it swung open at Kellain’s shrill call.

  Marshall had anticipated primitive dwellings—lean-tos, or maybe crude mud huts. Instead he saw ample, well-constructed homes that resembled Mongol yurts. Their outer walls were expertly thatched, many with lengths of colored fabric woven into them, and the roofs were made from curved wood shingles fastened together by braided ropes. As they passed an open door, he saw that the dwelling’s interior walls were painted with elegant, colorful organic patterns. Bright banners fluttered on poles between the buildings, creating a carnival atmosphere.

  More Sleviccs emerged from the buildings, shouting, smiling, and warmly embracing the returnees.

  Mayberry clutch
ed Marshall’s hand tighter.

  “Look,” she said, subtly tilting her head.

  He followed her gaze to a Slevicc wearing a rusty canteen slung on a ragged, military-style belt—definitely manufactured. It reminded him of photos he’d seen of World War I soldiers’ canteens.

  “There’s more.” Mayberry pointed to a lodge whose exterior wall incorporated a section of buffalo skins decorated with beadwork. Another displayed a round Native American shield, a beaded breastplate, and other Plains Indian–style antiques.

  “They’ve met humans before,” he said softly.

  “Right,” Mayberry said. “But is that good or bad?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Mayberry pointed at the colorful banners. “It looks like there’s a festival going on or something. Maybe they need a king and queen like they have during Mardi Gras. Or maybe they want to worship us as gods.” She smiled. “Or as a goddess and her faithful sidekick.”

  “Could be,” Marshall said. “I’m ready to sit on the stairs near your throne, as long as you feed me while I’m sidekicking.”

  “I’m hungry, too,” Mayberry said, scanning the village for signs of something edible.

  CHAPTER 20

  FIVE SLEVICCS headed their way. Kellain stepped in front of the party and cheeped while gesturing wildly with his hands, but after some fast-paced conversation, he stopped talking and lowered his head as if they had convinced him they were right. He stood aside, and the rest of them turned and walked toward the humans.

  “So I guess it’s not time to crown us after all,” Marshall said, squaring his shoulders and mentally preparing for whatever was next.

  The two lead Sleviccs bent over and gently grabbed Marshall under his armpits. When he started to twist away, their grip turned to iron.