S.A.R.

by Patricia Cirone

  "One drop,” she murmured. “In the second skin, for later."

  Kit raised her eyebrow.

  "It will make him sleep, but won't be enough to harm him. We can't risk his waking up in the town and drawing attention."

  Kit grimaced. She didn't like the thought of putting a baby to sleep. Ragee leaned over and gripped her wrist.

  "He's dead if we don't,” she said earnestly, her eyes holding Kit's as hard as her hand did her wrist. “We might be ransomed; held prisoner; whatever. But he'd be killed. Instantly."

  Kit nodded and put the drop in the second skinful of milk. The baby dropped off to sleep after sucking the first dry. Kit settled him against a curve of the provisions sack and leaned back against a rock. To wait. She watched the blue sky; not even a cloud in it to break the monotony. It would be clear tonight; starlight would mark their way. But no moonlight: there didn't seem to be a moon here. Kit sighed and moved restlessly, stretching her neck in the direction of the town. But she couldn't see even the outer fringes. Ragee had purposely picked a spot where they could neither see nor be seen. She glanced over to where Ragee was busily polishing her sword one-handedly, propping its hilt between her knees. The older woman looked up.

  "It'll be hours yet. Do you want to get some sleep?"

  "I'm not tired,” Kit answered crankily.

  Ragee's gray eyes assessed her. “You want to learn how to at least grip that sword you're carrying? I can't teach you how to fight, but at least you'd have the appearance of a warrior. It might put off opposition."

  "Gladly!” Kit replied relieved at the thought of having something to do.

  Ragee nodded and got to her feet. Kit following suit.

  "Here,” Ragee said, holding her hand out. “Look how my hand grasps the hilt: thumb so, fingers spaced to hold it evenly, firmly. You hold it as if you think it's going to bite you. Watch.” Ragee swung the sword around in a few easy swings to demonstrate how her hand moved with the sword. Even right-handed, she seemed sure of herself. Kit tried to duplicate the grip with her left hand but the sword dipped and wavered about on its own.

  Ragee put her own sword down and reached over to move Kit's fingers into the proper position and hold them there, moving the sword back and forth to show Kit how it should feel. “Try to keep your hand like that and practice getting the feel of it."

  "Just hold it?"

  "I'll show you a few beginning maneuvers. Not that you'll be able to fight anyone with them, but it'll get you used to the sword."

  Kit practiced on and off the rest of the afternoon, glad of something to do. She had visions of helping Ragee in a fight and then would see the way her sword wobbled and laugh wryly at her pretensions. Still glory seeking, she chided herself.

  "Don't tire yourself out,” Ragee advised.

  "I'm not. I've got strong arms from years of gymnastics It feels good to exercise them; they've been feeling cramped from carrying the baby.” Ragee grunted and showed Kit how the exercises fit together to block and thrust against an opponent.

  "You might have a natural aptitude,” she said approvingly. “I'd almost think you'd been practicing for two afternoons instead of one.” Her eyes twinkled.

  Kit snorted.

  "No, seriously. If you want to become a swordwielder, I think you could. Even starting this late. A few years of practice with a good instructor and you'd be passable."

  "Thanks,” Kit said ruefully. Ragee shrugged and sat back down. Kit hadn't meant to hurt the other's feelings. “I just wish I was at least passable tonight. That town worries me."

  Ragee looked back up, her lips twisting into half a smile “Can't have everything. We'll make it.” But Kit noticed the older woman was pensive.

  They started working their way down the cliffs as dusk deepened into night. Kit was glad she'd had a day and a half scrambling around on these rocks—and had naturally sure feet. It was no joke negotiating them in what faint light was left. Abruptly the rocks stopped: they were in the town, flitting up quiet streets.

  Yellow light and laughter spilled from the open doorway of a tavern. They silently went up the side street to avoid it. The town stretched endlessly: narrow streets and cobbled walk-ways, houses, stores ... scenes familiar yet skewed with a difference that Kit, a townsperson all her life, felt more deeply than she had the purple grass and the absence of a moon.

  She shifted the milk-and-drug-drowsing prince from one arm to the other and sped up a stonecut staircase after Ragee, to the next level. Again they crept past houses, scurried up slanting streets and flitted with the shadows, ever higher. They paused to let pass a talkative group of townspeople who never noticed the two women, still, against a shadowed corner of a building. After they were by Kit shifted the baby back to her right arm to free the left for the sword. Ragee signaled and they moved on up. They were near the top, a scant street or so away from the straight path to the border, when they were spotted.

  "Hoi! Two of them! Guards, to me!” a man shouted. Ragee dived toward him, her sword flickering in the light of the torch he held. The clang as their swords engaged seemed to echo throughout the night, awakening shadows. Before Kit could wonder what to do it was over. Hampered by the torch, the man had been no match for Ragee, even right-handed as she was now. But just as Kit drew a sigh of relief she heard the sounds of running feet coming toward them. She and Ragee took off, running desperately, giving up concealment for speed.

  The footsteps gained on them. Light from carried torches nipped at their heels, then spilled across them. The way narrowed. One street wide. The pass was directly ahead. Shouts rose from Gellis's men, manning their side of the pass. Against the flickering torch light. Kit could see archers jumping into position. She realized they must have been keeping this last street up to the pass free of Longire's troops by this means. But the road was too narrow for them to risk shooting with Ragee and her in the way. And Longire's men were gaining too fast.

  "Ragee! Take Luewel!” Ragee faltered and shook her head no, urging Kit to come.

  "Take him!” Kit thrust the infant at Ragee and turned toward their pursuers, bringing her sword up in the first movement Ragee had shown her that afternoon. She prayed desperately she could delay them the few extra seconds that Ragee needed.

  The first man met her sword with a crash that almost knocked her to her knees. She thrust hard, pushing soles to the ground and regaining her balance as if recovering from a bad dismount. She swept her sword up and somehow managed to encounter the other's. The sound rang dully, not a true hit. The man shifted and his sword sped toward Kit She heard cheers from behind; knew Ragee had made it. Then she fell, pain exploding in her side.

  * * * *

  She woke slowly in a brightly lit room. Sunlight streamed in, patterning familiar wallpaper with the scallops of the curtains; keepsakes from her childhood jostled each other on the shelf at the foot of her bed. She was in her own room: the attic, with its own separate entrance, which she rented at the top of her sister's home. The only incongruous note was Baldour's sword, leaning against the wall.

  "Hello, traveler!” a man said cheerily.

  Kit turned her head to see a perfect stranger leaning against the wall. He was casually dressed, with merry brown eyes

  "How do you feel?” he asked as he lounged forward and straddled a chair.

  "Disoriented,” Kit answered frankly. “And confused as hell."

  "Very common!” he said sagely, belying the tone with a disarming grin.

  "How did I get back here?"

  "Most travelers return to a familiar place when they leave an alternate reality, especially when they leave it abruptly, as you did. First-timers usually show up in their rooms. A homing instinct, I suppose you might say. Those more experienced usually train themselves to arrive at the center. Control develops with experience."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Traveling. Skipping to alternate realities. I'm from S.A.R., the Society for Alternate Realities, here at your service!"

>   "Society for Alternate Realities! That's a nursery myth!"

  "Ah, no. We really aren't. Not that we go around talking about it because, like you, most people flat out disbelieve alternate realities exist. And will regard you as wikky if you go about talking about them. But you: you are special. You've shown you have the ability to travel and so you really should belong to us. Actually, to all intents and purposes, you do belong to us since even if you never come to the center, we will still monitor you, make sure you don't start abusing your talent. Go nipping into alternate realities and wreak havoc, whatever. Any questions?” he concluded brightly.

  "Tons,” Kit answered, bemused.

  "Come down to the center. We'll teach you all there is to know. Or at least all that we know. And there you'll find people to talk to who'll believe you! No one else will, so don't attempt to try it. Kit. Not family, not friends, not even nursery-myth readers.” He sounded more serious, toward the last part, but his eyes still twinkled.

  "So. I wasn't sent there."

  "No. No one sent you. You took yourself. Need on your part responding to need on the part of someone in an alternate reality."

  "I was panicking. I had broken into an apartment and been discovered. And Ragee was petitioning her gods for help."

  "Yes, an urgent desire to be very much elsewhere often activates the talent. And petitions for help would provide access to the world you entered. It's not always as explicit as that."

  "Why? I mean why can we travel?"

  The man shrugged. “The gods? Fate? A quirk? No one knows. Some of us like to argue it back and forth. Most just accept it."

  "Is it just people from our world? That can travel to others?"

  "Good lord, no! Any world we can travel to has travelers that can come to us. And if there are some who neither send nor receive travelers, well, we'll never know, will we?"

  "How did you find out about me?"

  "Oh, that was easy. Anything as big as the shock of an inexperienced traveler breaking the barriers will give anyone attuned to the flows between the worlds a headache. You were as easy to trace there and back again as it would be to follow the path a searing hot iron was taking across your back. No blame to you. No one knows what they're doing the first time. They shatter the barriers instead of slipping through. You'll learn. That, and how to feel the pull of a need in another reality when there's no need on your part. Practice. That's all it takes."

  "Why do it?"

  "Don't you know?"

  "Something to do,” Kit replied.

  The man raised his eyebrow.

  "Something worthwhile to do?” Kit amended.

  "Close enough.” He grinned. “You'll find it feels good to do what needs doing. Help out. Plus you get to see worlds that most people couldn't even dream about. And friends ... they're the best."

  "How soon can I go back? To where I was?"

  "Ah. You can't,” he said regretfully but finally. “Not to that world. No one's ever been able to return to a world where they've been killed."

  "Killed?"

  "You died in that world. Or would have, if your essence had belonged there. Instead you were jolted back here, to your own reality. Fortunately, considering what we often encounter, your true death can only occur here. But in that reality you died. So you can't go back."

  "But Ragee..."

  He just sat there, sadness and wisdom showing in his brown eyes, making them seem much, much older than they had moments before.

  "There had to be need,” he said finally, softly. “And you fulfilled the need that was there. Even if you had left of your own volition and not been killed, you couldn't just go back to a place, or a person. Not unless there was a new need to provide the initial entryway.... But there are other worlds. Do you think you want to exercise your talent?"

  Kit lay there, thinking. Adventure? Perhaps. Hard work? Evidently, if her one experience was typical. But work had never bothered her. Something to work at, to commit herself to. Now that would feel good. And even if she never met Ragee again, or found out what had happened, well, as he had said, there would be others. Others to meet, to help, to become friends with. An ache, a need and a new-found sense of purpose burgeoned within her. “Yes,” she said decisively.

  * * *

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