Between Worlds

by Melissa Mead

  "But if you can learn, perhaps others can. The Steel Thorns, perhaps.” She began to shake, rocked with cold nausea. “My ... cousin. I can't let anyone cook him. I have to get him home!"

  "I'll help you. I promise.” Moving slowly, Lindi put her arms around Miska. “It's all right. I won't hurt you, or him. But first, I need to know who I'm looking for. What does he look like? What is his name?"

  "I...” Miska stopped short, trapped and trembling. Her left foot cramped. Giving her own name had been bad enough. To give Kimo's, without his knowledge, was unforgivable. There were Histories about Kankenni who had told too many secrets to Humans, and been banished from the Caverns. Her own grandmother had very nearly been one of them. And she was a Historian. She knew many, many stories that the Elders wouldn't want her to tell.

  "I need to know, if I'm to help you,” said Lindi.

  If she told, she might never see home again. But if not, the Steel Thorns might find Kimo first, and...

  She'd wrapped her cloak tightly around her hand and, in her anguish, twisted it so tightly it pinched. She looked down. The dark stain of Naneri's blood covered her knuckles. She stared at it for a long time.

  "His name's Kimo,” she whispered, finally. “He looks like...” She hesitated, eyeing the milling crowd, and smiled shakily. “Gather some more Motes. I'll show you another children's game."

  With quick, furtive gestures, as though she held an invisible pencil, Miska sketched an image on the fourth egg. Dark lines etched themselves across the shell, revealing a sharp, sullen face, before quickly fading away.

  "He looks like that."

  "He doesn't look much like you."

  "No one else looks much like me. Even my Mami didn't. She was very tall, and her beauty-marks didn't show much, but she looked all Kankenni. Night-haired—that's shiny black, like yours—with the kindest gold eyes.” Miska slipped the egg into a pocket. Juliar, half smiling, half embarrassed, came back and gave her a handful of silver.

  "People insisted on paying for the ‘show',” he explained.

  Miska shook her head. “Give it to Lindi, then, for the pearls. I don't want to keep you from your work, and Lindi and I have to look for..."

  "Kimo,” said Juliar, so softly as to be almost inaudible.

  "How could you know?” Shock ran like ice water down Miska's spine.

  "You said it yourself, that first night in the Temple. You were so exhausted; I didn't think you'd even heard yourself."

  "I hadn't. I told his true name to the Temple?"

  "Just me. Nurse Dannae wasn't listening."

  "And, all this time, you haven't told anyone?"

  "You practically turned green after you told me your own name. I figured you'd rather I didn't tell his."

  "You were ... very good. Yes. That is his name. I hope I can find him before I make any more mistakes."

  She straightened her shoulders and marched to the bakery tent.

  Gerun wasn't there. Miska didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved. Spensie was laying out a tray of hot rye twists. She looked up in alarm as the trio approached.

  "Now, Juliar, I don't want trouble,” she warned. “It's got nothing to do with me. Gerun goes on, you know that. It's just talk."

  "Talk about what, Spensie?” Juliar said softly.

  "He'd never hurt your little friend, there. It's just he got so mad when that boy stole off him..."

  "That's why we're here,” Juliar assured her.

  "The boy—what did he look like?” Miska broke in.

  Spensie hesitated. “Wild, with a dirty face, and weird yellow eyes. And what a temper! Kicked Gerun in the shins, he did, and ran off with the best cheese in the place. That's why Gerun was so mad. You know how he gets, Juliar. He didn't break much. If the young lady here's come to press charges ... or the Temple ... I'll pay his fine. He meant no harm."

  "No, no, Spensie. Nothing like that.” Secretly, Miska wondered if Juliar wouldn't like to press charges—whatever that meant—on the bullying Gerun. She could see the anger tensing his jaw. “We'd like to find the boy ourselves, in fact. Do you know where he went?"

  Spensie shook her head, staring down at a loaf of bread as though she wished she could produce Kimo from inside it. “Haven't seen a hair of him since then."

  "How about Gerun? Is he around?"

  Spensie arranged some more buns at the front of her booth, looking away from them all the time. “He's gone off with some friends of his. Could be gone for hours. He..."

  "Oh!” said Miska, under her breath.

  Spensie heard, and followed Miska's gaze, locked on her flour-covered hands. Dark bruises purpled both arms. Spensie tugged her sleeves, hiding the bruises.

  Juliar looked, too, and his lips thinned. But all he said was: “Those rolls look delicious, Spensie. How much for six?"

  Spensie quickly wrapped up half a dozen of the largest rolls—and three cherry tarts—and handed them to the scribe with a look of mute gratitude. Lindi, just as quietly, handed him a large pearl to pay for them.

  "Let me get your silver, Miss."

  Lindi shook her head. Juliar folded Spensie's fingers around the pearl.

  "You be careful, Spensie,” he said.

  They walked to Juliar's corner in silence, and sat chewing pensively on the still-steaming rolls.

  "Who did that to her?” Miska asked at last.

  Juliar swallowed. “Gerun."

  "I'm just as glad he wasn't there,” Lindi added. Then, as Juliar took the rest of the silver from the Temple mailbag: “No, Juliar—put that in the offering basket."

  "Gerun...” Miska shuddered. “But Spensie's his aunt!"

  "Not all bullies wear Steel Thorn cloaks,” Juliar grumbled. He tore a chunk off of one of the cherry tarts.

  "I don't understand why she spoke up for him,” Lindi said.

  "Because she's afraid. Because Gerun wants to keep her from telling ... something.” Juliar scowled. “Only I don't know what.” He reached for a cherry tart.

  Miska looked at him, long and thoughtfully.

  "Or because she is his aunt.” She folded back her skirt and rolled down her stocking. The bruise Kimo had left still showed, fading but clearly visible. “Kimo did this."

  Juliar set down the tart. “Miska..."

  "And you still want us to help you find him?” Lindi scowled and shook her head. “He sounds almost as bad as Gerun—as those Steel Thorns, even."

  "Don't say that!” Miska startled herself with her own panic. “He's a child. He's angry, he's frightened, but I can't believe he could become ... like that."

  "I suppose his parents want him back, at least.” Juliar bit into the tart. “Lucky him."

  "He has no parents,” Miska reminded him. “And we have no Temple. Just ourselves."

  "More like you?” Juliar took another bite of tart. “Like I said. Lucky him."

  A rangy lizard of a man, dark hair greased and eyes glittering over a slit of a mouth, swaggered up to the tent. He wore heavy indigo satin, not worn gray cloth, but something about him set Miska's nerves on edge. Heavy silver bracelets, shaped like linked vertebrae, bound his wrists, and when he slammed his fist on the table the inkwells rattled.

  "Boy! Temple Boy!” The man caught sight of Lindi and Miska, and his eyes widened slightly. “Is this a scribe's office, or a harem?"

  "Everything that goes on at the front table is impeccably professional, sir.” Beneath Juliar's calm Temple expression, the slightest glitter dared the man to ask what went on behind the front table.

  "I need a letter. Short, no funny business, fastest delivery the Temple's got."

  "Certainly.” Juliar uncorked an inkwell and took out pen and paper. “The salutation?"

  The man glared.

  "Who is it to, sir?'

  "Ossifer."

  "No title? No last name?"

  "Just Ossifer. Shut your mouth and write."

  "One moment, please.” Before the man could protest, Juliar turned to Miska and Lind
i with an apologetic smile. “You ladies go on without me. I'll meet you back here at sunset."

  The girls strolled through the market, pretending to look at necklaces and scarves and spinning-tops, eyes and ears alert.

  "He never told,” Miska mused, lightly stroking a length of violet silk.

  "Who never told what?” Wait, is that ... No, just an ordinary little boy. Sorry."

  "Juliar. He never told Kimo's true name, even though I hadn't told him he shouldn't."

  "He's a Temple Servant. No boy could stay in the House of the Lady, unless his Vedi trusted him."

  "Why not?"

  Lindi shrugged. “That's what Mother always says. She'd be aghast at the way Juliar dragged us into that closet, but I don't care."

  "The Elders would never believe a Human could be trusted so. I wish they could see this! Oh, I know someone who would give her Elder's ribbon to visit this stall."

  It was an herb shop. Just a mat under an awning, really, surrounded with bundles of leaves, sacks of powders, piles of gnarled and knotted roots. The girl overseeing the display seemed shockingly young to Miska, barely older than little Lila.

  "Can I help you find something, Ladies?” She half-bowed respectfully to Lindi, and again, less certainly, to Miska.

  "May I just explore?” Miska smiled broadly at the girl. “You have such a fine collection!"

  The girl colored modestly. “Of course. Just be careful, especially of the ones on the red cloth. They're medicinal, and some of them are pretty strong."

  "I've been well taught.” Miska assured her. The girl looked doubtful, and Miska realized how this must seem to her: what appeared to be a child asking to handle plants that even Midyora would treat with respect. She pointed out a few samples at random.

  "Catmint. Feathered dill. Rosemary."

  The girl nodded. Still, none of these went beyond what might be found in a large kitchen garden. Miska moved to the red cloth.

  "Black nightberry. Poison. A little makes the pupils large. Golden poppy. Powerful for sleep. Tastes horrid, though. Foxpaw. Makes the heart beat strongly.” All deadly.

  The girl looked at Miska with new respect. “You have been well taught. Is there anything here that you don't recognize?"

  "That.” Miska pointed at a thick root with a deep crimson skin, broken to show a bone white core.

  "That? That's Impsbane. Funny name. All it's good for is rat poison."

  "May I see it?” Lindi looked at her in horror, but Miska calmly accepted the cloth-wrapped piece the young herbalist gave her.

  "Be careful,” the girl warned. “The skin stains, and if you get it in your mouth"—the girl shuddered—"well, the one time I did I saw flying rabbits for the next hour. Pink ones."

  Miska frowned, and sniffed the cut end.

  "Pleasant, for a poison,” was all she said. “Almost like marigolds. I'd like to buy a piece, if you would. About so big.” She held her hands about two inches apart.

  "Why?” Lindi almost shouted. The herb-seller jumped.

  "We do have rats to catch, yes? Thank you.” Miska took the well-wrapped packet and stored it in another of the green cloak's myriad inner pockets.

  "Don't forget to wash your hands.” The girl handed back half of the silver Miska offered, smiling. “That's far too much, miss. And it's a pleasure, meeting someone who knows about more than peppermint and pepper. Not many people ask for Impsbane. You're only the second in a month."

  "Second? Who was the first?"

  "A Temple manservant, I think. Someone in what looked like their uniform, anyway. They came two weeks ago, maybe three. I'm not sure. I didn't think to notice."

  "You had no reason to,” Miska agreed.

  "Would you like something also, miss?” the girl asked Lindi.

  Lindi made a few tamer selections, for Aldinan to experiment with in the kitchen. With their purchases in hand, they headed back to Juliar's corner.

  There were no customers. The table in front of the tent-within-a-tent was littered with paper, pens, and ink. The back room was dark with shadow, half the curtain hanging loose and torn. Of Juliar himself, there was no sign.

  "What a mess!” Lindi took in the disorder inside the tent and shook her head. “Could burglars have been here?"

  "I think it always looks like this. Except for the curtain.” Miska spoke lightly, but her throat tightened. She edged toward the back, nearly tripping over an overturned stool. “Juliar? Are you here? Ju ... Oh!"

  "What is it?” Lindi hurried over, snapping a dropped pen underfoot in her haste.

  Juliar lay sprawled among the scattered cushions, white as the crumpled papers under the table. Miska knelt and checked his pulse.

  "Is he dead? Is it the Thorns? Are they still here?” Lindi's voice rose with each word, until she nearly squeaked.

  "I don't think so. Stay calm ... See, he's all right-aren't you, Juliar?"

  He sat up groggily. Miska watched him closely. His eyes, dilated so only the pupils showed, slowly returned to normal.

  "Are you all right, Juliar?” Miska repeated.

  He looked around, first at Miska, then at Lindi. Lindi was almost as wide-eyed as he had been, but from fright.

  "I don't think so.” He turned back to Miska and smiled—a dazed, unfocused smile. “I'm seeing pretty girls everywhere. And I smell perfume. Flowers. Nice."

  Miska sniffed, and frowned. “He'll be all right. Lindi, there was a seat...?"

  Lindi righted the overturned stool, and Miska helped Juliar onto it.

  "What happened, Juliar? Let me see your hands.” She held out her own.

  "Just a bump on the head,” Juliar protested, although he willingly put his hands in Miska's. They felt reassuringly warm to her, and there was no sign of a thorn. “I must have tripped, that's all. I remember grabbing the curtain, to try to catch myself.” He shook his head, and winced. “I heard it rip ... and then you two were there."

  "Juliar, you're bleeding.” Gently, Miska brushed tawny hair away from his forehead. “And let me check your eyes—good. Is there some water, and a clean cloth?"

  Heedless of what spilled ink and dust were doing to her dress, Lindi rummaged through the mess on the floor. “There's a pitcher of water, but no cloth. Everything else is filthy."

  "That's all right. Give me the water.” Miska unfastened her cloak and spread it before her, with the lining outward. Juliar bent forward to stare.

  "How many pockets does that thing have?"

  "Enough and one more, my Mami used to say.” Miska grinned at him. “My Doddi Jakki gave me the cloak. Sa ... my first Mentor made the pockets.” From two of them, Miska brought out a yellow powder and...

  "An old sock?” Lindi wondered aloud, offering the pitcher.

  "A very clean old sock.” Miska affirmed. She sprinkled the powder on it, soaked the bundle and handed it to Juliar. “Hold this right here.” She guided his hand, and pressed down.

  "That stings!” Juliar hissed. Miska just nodded.

  "Are you wearing perfume, Lindi? That smells like marigolds?"

  "No. Why...” Lindi stopped short, her eyes widening.

  "Kimo!” Juliar sprang up, stumbling and spilling the pitcher.

  Miska grabbed his arm. “Sit down ... What about him?"

  "He was here. I'm sure it was him. I was so muddleheaded, I couldn't think..."

  "When?"

  "A little while after you left. I was heading to the back to put a batch of Temple letters in the pouch. There was this boy, stuffing his pockets with goodness knows what. Stars know how he got in. He turned on me—he looked like an alley cat, with those eyes."

  "And?” Miska prompted.

  "Bonehead that I am, I blurted out, ‘Are you Kimo?’ He said something I couldn't understand—sounded like Corky, or Gorken..."

  "He shouldn't even know words like that,” Miska muttered.

  "...pushed by me, and ran out. Strong little devil. Gave me quite a shove. Guess I've got him to thank for this headache."
/>   Miska shook her head, staring around the ransacked tent. “He was right here. Just a little while ago. If I hadn't left..."

  "I'm sorry. I'd honestly forgotten, until just now."

  "Maybe he was looking for you, Miska,” Lindi offered.

  Miska stopped short, looking at her. “I'd assumed he was just looking for food ... Normally I'm the last person he'd seek out, but right now I'm the only one he knows. And the Elders have all but made me his guardian, so he knows I'm obliged to get him home."

  "But how would he know where to look?"

  "He wouldn't, unless he's learned to Worldwalk,” Miska confessed. “Then it would be simple. But he's behind for his age, and without a teacher, I don't see how he could."

  Juliar dropped the soggy sock. “OK, bleeding's stopped. Let's find him."

  Lindi frowned. “But you look like you climbed on the Temple roof, and then fell off it."

  "If I'd fallen from that height, Miss Salera, I'd have worse than a bump on the head. Trust me, I know.” Juliar levered himself off the stool. “Still, if Lady Doria hears of this and thinks something happened to us ... I'll take you ladies home, and see if the Temple has any news of Kimo. He's stirred up enough fuss today; I'd be surprised if someone hasn't picked him up."

  "Let me come with you,” said Miska. “If he's at the Temple, surrounded by Humans, he'll be terrified. He may not even understand half of what they say. Your language has changed during the Exile."

  "But we speak the same language!” Lindi laughed. “You have an accent, but no more than people in the Northwest Colonies."

  Miska smiled, remembering. “Kimo never had a Human grandfather to talk to. Let us go find him."

  * * * *

  "Will you two please stop staring at me?” Juliar snapped, brandishing his walking stick at them. Despite his fall, he walked more easily since Miska's treatment, even with the Temple mailbag over his shoulder.

  "We just want to be sure you're all right.” Miska dropped behind to whisper to Lindi. “I did smell marigolds, there in the tent."

  "Well, you've got that nasty root in your pocket, remember."