Between Worlds

by Melissa Mead

  "Either a kind of hearth-hob, or a treacherous imp, depending on who's telling the story.” Miska quoted, choking. “Only calling us ‘Imps’ is an insult. We call ourselves Kankenni. You would call us Cantrips."

  Doria, Aldinan, and Vedi Sharanis exchanged concerned looks over Miska's head. Lindi smothered a nervous giggle.

  Juliar sat in the window seat, next to Miska, but not too close. He coughed.

  "You've been through a lot, and I don't know what was in that stuff you just swallowed,” he said gently. “Are you sure you're ... feeling like yourself?"

  "Am I outside of my mind, do you mean?” Miska smiled bleakly at him. “Probably. It was probably safer, letting you think we were stories. The Elders would say so.” She tried not to think of what else the Elders would say. “But if these Steel Thorns are hunting children...” She froze. “What happened to the other children? The ones you told me about?"

  "They all died.” Juliar looked away. “None of them even made it as far as the Temple."

  "Lila hasn't died,” Lindi offered.

  "No, Lila hasn't.” Vedi Sharanis toyed with the bit of topaz on her desk. “Will she recover fully, Miska?"

  Miska took a deep breath. “I'm no master of healing, and there's not much I can do by myself. I hope so."

  "What you did was ... remarkable. Perhaps you could work with Nurse Dannae, in the Infirmary. After what you've done for Lila, we can hardly send you off alone."

  "Even if I ask you to, Elder Sharanis?"

  "Child, those assassins could do the same to you!"

  "No child could have saved Lila,” Juliar put in. “Anybody who can do that is certainly capable of taking care of herself."

  Miska smiled her gratitude at him.

  "Juliar, she thinks she's a Cantrip!” the priestess snapped, exasperated. “If this child has no family, we have a responsibility toward her."

  "Miska is ... not an ordinary little girl, Ma'am,” Juliar replied carefully.

  "I should say not!"

  "But she doesn't have pointy ears, or a tail, either.” Lindi pointed out.

  "Should I?” said Miska. “None of the others do."

  "Mm.” Juliar reached into a pocket and handed Miska a pebble.

  "Show them, Miska."

  To step fully into the Second World again, so soon, and stand literally transparent before the priestess’ searching eyes ... Miska shuddered.

  "I haven't time for games right now. Miss Lindilora and her family have been more than patient. Juliar, show Miska to the girl's dormitory."

  "I'm not lying, and I'm not mad!” Miska flung out her arm, swirling the bit of rock through the clouds of Motes that only she could see and pressing it in her fist. Vedi Sharanis jumped back, alarmed.

  "Catch her before she hurts someone!"

  Miska glanced at the pebble in her hand. Not quite. The rock glittered, but it was still gray. Another swirl—her vision spun at the same time.

  "Are you all right, Miska?” Juliar's voice. He sounded so far away. “You've gone pale. Paler."

  The rock was now reddish, still opaque. “Just a bit more..."

  This time everything spun. Miska toppled, landing hard on her elbow. A perfect ruby skittered over the wooden floor. Juliar yelled to someone she couldn't see, and strong hands settled her against soft cushions. Voices buzzed around her head, rising and falling. As the Motes receded into the background, the sounds grew clearer. Miska watched, bemused, while words slowly took on meaning again.

  "...delusion ... harmless ... safer if she's calm."

  "No—look!” Juliar held up the ruby. The other adults stared.

  "No wonder those ... thieves wanted to get hold of the girl,” Doria mused. “What a trick! It's like one of Thanli Montour's scams."

  "Only he's dead.” Aldinan put in from Miska's side. “That was quite a fall, young lady. Did you hurt the floor?"

  "N-no.” She pushed herself upright. “Do you believe me now?"

  Hesitantly, Lindi approached Miska.

  "I don't care if you're a Cantrip or not. Am I crazy?"

  "No.” Miska smiled wryly. “Maybe I am, but you're not."

  "Can you help me not to trip over things that aren't there any more? Mother's so embarrassed. And poor Cara ... She was supposed to be my maid, but I scared her away. She said I disappeared ... Can you teach me magic? Would you? You could have the green room, next to mine. I'd much rather study with you than be chanted over, and have to drink nasty potions, and Stars know what else. Please?"

  "The Temple couldn't possibly impose on your Aunt and Uncle in that way, Miss Lindilora,” Vedi Sharanis remonstrated gently. “If you..."

  "Estrellia,” Doria broke in suddenly. “A word with you, if you would."

  Vedi Sharanis, looking less composed with each disruption of her routine, turned to Juliar.

  "Take the young ladies outside for a moment, please, Juliar."

  The young scribe had been chuckling to himself at the discovery of his superior's first name. Now he was the picture of decorum, except for the twinkle in his eyes.

  "Certainly, Vedi Sharanis. Majestra. Sir.” He bowed flawlessly, and escorted Lindi and Miska into the hallway. Once the door had closed safely behind them, he turned back with a finger to his lips. A puckish grin spread over his face. He led them both to a nearby closet and waved them in.

  "What are you doing?” Lindi lifted the hem of her skirt a fraction. “Ick! It's all dusty!"

  "Sh!” Juliar pointed to the back wall, where a board had warped and left a crack. He cupped a hand to his ear.

  Miska, curious, clambered over a mop and peeked through the hole. Table legs, the bottom of a bookshelf—the hem of a saffron skirt. She backed away. Voices came through muffled, but clearly audible.

  "...whoever it was knows she's here. We can keep her safe.” Doria's voice.

  "The Temple's quite safe. You certainly don't have to do this for my sake, Doria. Miska may not make the most disciplined acolyte the Temple's ever had, but that hardly matters. Stars know Juliar wasn't the most obedient boy I'd ever seen at first, but I'd trust him anywhere."

  "You're blushing, Temple Boy,” Lindi whispered.

  "I'm not offering this as a favor, Relly,” said Doria. “You'd be doing us one. Lindi's been miserable since this ... problem began. My sister-in-law had hoped the trip would help, but, well, today's the most animated Lindi's been in weeks. Since she's begun having these ... fits ... She's been stumbling, bewildered ... It would do her good to have a companion who won't call attention to her ... awkward moments."

  "Even one who thinks she's a mythical being?"

  "I'm sure Miska's harmless. And gifted—she'd be a nurse and companion in one. And if someone has been chasing her, it really would be best to get her away from here."

  "Looks like a sweet girl,” Aldinan added. “A bit pointy-faced, needs fattening up, but..."

  "Your cooking will take care of that, Aldinan.” Doria smiled at her husband.

  "She's quite obstinate about being allowed to roam about,” Vedi Sharanis pointed out. “She's worried about a young cousin of hers. Not that I blame her, but..."

  "We'll help her find her cousin, then. Never underestimate the power of gossip,” Doria chuckled. “We'll have half the Merchant Council looking, all with an ear out for news. I still have friends in the trade network, and my garden club alone will be as much help as a half-dozen of your novices."

  "If you're quite certain..."

  "There's our cue, ladies,” Juliar hissed. They edged backward through a fringe of aprons. Out in the hallway, Lindi once again kept a careful distance between herself and Juliar.

  "Relly!” the young man chortled.

  "You're to come home with us, Miska!” Lindi skipped a few steps before pulling herself up short.

  "If you want to,” Juliar added. “Or I ... We'd be glad to have you at the Temple, if you'd rather."

  "Home,” Miska said to herself. Her eyes strayed to the diamond-paned windows
lining the hall. She leaned on the nearest sill and looked out, over frost-limned trees and tiled roofs, terra-cotta and slate blue and dove gray. Somewhere out there was a lost child, and somewhere beyond the river, under the brittle grass, were Abri, and Midyora, and home. She sighed.

  "I'm sorry I called you an Imp, Miska,” said Juliar quietly from behind her.

  "But you didn't. You only sang a song. Rather well, too."

  Juliar was quiet. Miska wondered if she'd embarrassed him. She kept looking out the window.

  "It's a beautiful view,” said Juliar. “See those little hills?"

  "Oh, yes. Yes, I do."

  "The first settlers from Kivinan called them No Man's Land. The forest behind them was supposed to be full of sprites, and fauns, and Nixies. I always wanted to travel there. Or anywhere, really. Some day..."

  The study door creaked.

  "In here, quick.” Juliar herded them both into a small room, lined with dreadfully earnest portraits of past Star Sisters. He stopped in front of a particularly hideous painting of a horse-faced woman whose yellowish hair clashed violently with her flaming orange robe.

  "Now this,” Juliar droned, “is Lady Constantina Devoe, forty-seventh Daughter of this House, who rid the city of a plague of Alizarin Toads by whistling the entire Stellar Chorus. Backward. At three in the morning."

  "Juliar, our guests may return now,” called Vedi Sharanis from the doorway.

  "Now Alizarin Toads are totally deaf, of course,” Juliar went on. “But Lady Devoe was such a dreadful whistler that the people ran her out of town, trampling all the toads ... Yes, ma'am. Coming."

  They returned in decorous silence and stood before Lindi's aunt and uncle, hands folded demurely and expressions calm. Doria and Aldinan beamed at them.

  "Did you have a nice tour?” asked Doria.

  "Yes!” they chorused simultaneously.

  "Juliar's been telling us about the Lizard Toads,” Lindi added.

  "Lizard toads?” Aldinan looked baffled.

  "Lizard...” Doria shook her head. “Miska, if you'd like to come with us, we'd be glad to have you as our guest for as long as Lindi stays with us."

  Miska studied her carefully. Square, plain face, kind eyes ... Next to her, Aldinan fairly radiated enthusiastic welcome. Lindi bounced on her heels.

  "Say yes. Do say yes. It's so boring with no one my age ... Oh, sorry, Aunt Doria, Uncle Aldi."

  "You see how much she needs a good influence?” said Aldinan, smiling.

  She needs a teacher, Miska thought. Could this Human girl really be seeing Motes? Could she help search for Kimo?

  "Miska's a very good influence,” said Juliar softly. He turned to straighten some books on the nearest shelf.

  Miska took a deep breath. “I'd be honored,” she said.

  * * * *

  Juliar did not come to see them off.

  "I've let my work go long enough,” was all he said. “Pens to sharpen, ink to mix ... You know.” He looked away.

  Miska thought he might change his mind, might wave from a window at least. She waited until everyone else was inside the cream and blue carriage before getting in herself, and even then she watched as the Temple receded out the back window. The doors stayed closed, the windows dark.

  Chapter 7

  Miska didn't hide in a corner of the carriage this time. She knelt on the cushions, staring, pointing, and wondering. It was a fine sunny afternoon, if cold, and everyone had come out to enjoy it. There was so much to see, on every side. Chevrals with bows on each horn, pulling flower-painted carts. Musicians in red and blue velvet, playing merry tunes on pipes and bells. And children—so many children!—some as tall as she.

  "Oh, look!” she called, pointing skyward. “What are they doing? Are those birds?"

  Lindi, watching from the seat next to her, laughed. “Didn't you ever fly kites?"

  "Kites ... That's a kind of bird, yes?"

  "Not those. Those are paper.

  "Paper birds?"

  "I'll show you! We'll make kites, or buy some, and I'll show you how to fly them."

  "Crazy kids, flying kites in this cold,” Aldinan scoffed, but he was laughing.

  "There are more people here than in all of...” Miska pulled herself up short. “I'm not used to such crowds."

  From the opposite seat, Doria studied her thoughtfully.

  "Didn't you bring anything with you, Miska?” she asked finally.

  "In my pockets, yes.” She sat and turned the green cloak inside-out on her lap. “Doddi Jakki's book, dried catnip ... Oh, my chakhali's melted!” She looked mournfully at the sticky brown stain.

  "What's that—chocolate? Don't worry, dear. We'll get you some more."

  "Get her some from that place next to Miss Foster's,” said Lindi. “That's the best."

  "You like chakhali?"

  "Doesn't everyone?"

  Doria smiled. “Necessities first. Luxuries later. We'll get that stain out. Don't you have any other clothes, Miska?"

  "I have a pair of socks."

  "A pair of ... Well, this will be quite a shopping expedition! I'm sure we'll be able to find some nice clothes for a young lady of ... twelve?"

  "Forty-three.” Still absorbed in looking out the window, Miska didn't see their jaws drop.

  "You are not forty-three years old!” Lindi interjected. “I don't believe you've had anywhere near forty-three birthdays."

  "I haven't had any birthdays.” Homesickness flooded over Miska again, stronger than before. I don't even know what Illyana and Tanrin are naming the baby, she realized.

  "'You mean you've never celebrated your birthday?” Aldinan was watching her, his eyes full of deep, if misdirected, sympathy. She forced herself back to the present.

  "No, I've never had one. We don't celebrate our own birthdays. We celebrate the births of our children. No children, no birthdays."

  There was silence for a while, except for the tap-tapping of the chevrals’ cloven hooves on stone. Miska pillowed her cheek on a purple velvet cushion and curled up on the seat.

  "Oh no,” moaned Lindi, softly.

  "What's the matter, Lindi?” Aldinan leaned toward his niece.

  "The little lights again. And the air's gone prickly."

  Miska looked up from the cushion.

  "If you can relax, the prickly feeling will go away. I think the Motes don't quite know what to make of you. That's what my Mami said when it happened to me, anyway. She said she felt the same way, at first. They still make me twitchy sometimes."

  "Motes? The little lights? You mean they're alive?"

  "I'm not certain. Ili ... One of my teachers thinks that people create them, somehow. They don't quite act like things with minds. But there are more around things with minds, even more around talking people, and more still around those who can interact with them. It's almost as though they like being made into things."

  "I just want them to stop making me dizzy.” Lindi shook her head. “Ow! That's worse!"

  "Let me help.” Miska called most of the Motes to herself, and Lindi relaxed slightly. She looked at the dull gray blouse and skirt of the Temple uniform she wore. “Choose a color."

  "Um, sky blue."

  "Watch the Motes.” Miska herself watched the Humans’ eyes. It was clear that Lindi saw the Motes, and equally clear that her aunt and uncle did not. “Are you ready?"

  "Yes!"

  Changing the Motes themselves was much easier than making the Motes change a solid object. There was room, if one wasn't too distracted by fatigue or hunger, to play. Miska grinned.

  "All right.” She formed the Motes into a shimmering cascade, pouring over her like water. For her own enjoyment, she gave the glittering flow a feeling of coolness. Lindi's eyes widened, and she drew in a quick breath. The adults looked bewildered.

  "This proves it. You really do see Motes. Ready?"

  Awed, Lindi nodded.

  The shower took on the color of a summer sky, wove itself into the cloth, and dis
sipated. Now all three Humans stared, for Miska's dress was the same color.

  "It's beautiful! And I'm not dizzy any more!” Lindi crowed.

  "Well,” said Aldinan. And again: “Well."

  "Can you teach me to do that? Please? I'll get you all the chocolate in the world, if you can teach me,” Lindi begged.

  "I can't promise..."

  "But you will try? Hurry, Uncle Aldi! I want to get home quickly."

  "Lindi, dear, Miska's a guest,” her aunt scolded gently. “You mustn't order her around."

  "I'd like to get home myself,” said Miska quietly. Lindi wriggled with delight. But Miska's eyes weren't on her. They were looking beyond the river, to the rumpled blanket of hills that Humans called No Man's Land.

  Miska had never seen such a house. Lindi led her down a long paneled hallway, past one doorway after another. Miska caught glimpses of wonders she'd only known from tales: high curtained windows, blazing fireplaces, pictures of flowers and real butterflies ... She turned this way and that, trying to absorb all this color and light and space. Lindi steered her into a corner room with carpet like moss, a high square bed, and a cushioned window seat. Miska sank into this gratefully.

  "This will be yours,” Lindi said. “If you want this room, that is. Do you?"

  "I think so.” Miska took a deep breath and looked around. This room was a bit smaller than the others, less intimidating. Crisp air, fragrant with scents from the kitchen, wafted through the open window. If she half-closed her eyes and looked at the moss-colored floor, she could imagine she was standing on the grass just outside the west entrance to the Caverns.

  Lindi frowned. “I know it's not what you're used to. Should I bring in some branches or something?

  "Branches?” Miska turned away from the window. “What for?"

  "Well, to sleep on.” Lindi scuffed a toe in the carpet. “My books all say that Cantrips live in trees."

  Miska laughed. “Like birds? Have humans forgotten so much already? No, my far-ancestors lived in forests, once, but I've never slept in a tree."

  Lindi looked crestfallen. “And I asked Aunt Doria to give you this room, because the carpet looks like grass and leaves. I thought you'd like it."