Between Worlds

by Melissa Mead

  "I feel ... strange,” Lindi moaned. Abri turned to look at her.

  "The Human girl's fading,” he said.

  Miska felt something fluttering deep inside her own being. “I can't stay much longer either, Love. And I have to get Lindi home."

  "I don't want to leave you alone among Humans!"

  Miska smiled shakily and wrapped her arms around him, holding him as close as one can hold an image. She nodded toward Lindi. “Don't worry. I'm among friends."

  As she guided Lindi back into the Solid World, she thought she heard an echo of a voice.

  "Then we'll have to come to you."

  She lay facedown on the bed for what seemed like hours, grieving silently for Tanrin. She knew Lindi was beside her, shaken and shaking, but she did not move. All she saw was Tanrin's gentle face gone still, his daughter's bloodied face, and Illyana, her pale hair shorn to her shoulders in widow's mourning.

  "Girls? I'm back! Are you in there?'

  "Aunt Doria!” Lindi looked up, giddy with the passage between worlds. She reached for the doorknob, missed, and plopped down in a chair. Miska rubbed her eyes dry on her sleeve, and opened the door instead. Doria entered, her arms full of paper-wrapped packages.

  "Happy birthday, Miska!” A warm smile crinkled the corners of Doria's eyes. It vanished as soon as she saw Miska's face. “You've been crying! Are you all right?"

  "I will be soon,” said Miska softly.

  "Well...” Looking more subdued, Doria set out her parcels on the bedspread. Aldinan came in and stood in the doorway behind her, beaming. “There are nowhere near forty-three dresses here, but it's a start. Besides, everyone should have something new to wear for New Light. Open them."

  With growing disbelief, Miska opened package after package. She could remember Sharings back when her grandfather was alive. Everyone in the Caverns, even the Elders, would watch in awe as Doddi Jakki brought one treasure after another out of his wagon for the Kankenni to share. A bushel of apples. A bolt of scratchy but warm russet wool. A dozen sacks of corn. Paper. Two colors of ink. Enough peppermints for every child. One precious, moss-green velvet cloak.

  This bounty made all that look like a mouse's winter store. Three dresses: one in peacock green silk, one soft golden-brown velvet, and one powder blue, embroidered with silvery leaves and flowers. White satin nightgowns with pearl buttons. Stockings. Slippers. Underclothes. A pair of stout boots. And atop the largess, a silver bag of dizzyingly rich chocolates. Miska folded her trembling hands in her lap and looked at Doria in hopeful expectation.

  "You can try them on whenever you'd like,” Doria offered. “Miss Foster was mortified at the thought of letting me take them without your trying them on first, but if I know her, these will still fit you perfectly."

  "Which one?” Miska managed, still stunned by these riches. “Aren't you going to divide the Sharing?"

  "Any of them!” Doria replied, puzzled but smiling.

  "They're all for you,” said Aldinan. “And I'm going to make you a birthday feast. If Cook will let me in the kitchen, after last week's unfortunate mishap with the hot peppers, that is. Don't eat all those chocolates at once, now!” He smiled broadly at them, and left. Miska looked at Doria, then at her “birthday presents."

  "All...” The realization sank in. Overwhelmed, Miska turned and hid her emotion by breathing deeply of the vase of lavender. The room went quiet.

  "At home, they've been celebrating the turning to Greening Season,” Miska murmured. “Greening Season's actually the thinnest time. The stores are nearly gone, and there's nothing new growing yet ... but somehow it's better when the snow is melting and it's not so dark. There's dancing and singing, and playing zephyr-pipes...” She turned away from Lindi's sympathetic look. The girl wasn't foolish. She'd heard enough from Abri to realize that the songs were muted this year. Miska smiled at Doria. “And we wear our newest clothes. You did better than you knew. Thank you."

  Doria smiled, her eyes gentle. “You're welcome, dear. I hope you and Lindi enjoyed yourselves today."

  "Oh, we did, aunt Doria!” Lindi fairly danced with excitement. “Miska showed me how to go into other worlds!"

  "Other worlds?” Doria's forehead wrinkled.

  "I'm told I'm a skilled storyteller,” Miska put in smoothly, with a warning glance at Lindi. Ever so gently, she picked up the dresses and folded them, stroking the brown velvet as though it were a kitten. “And we've had some lessons. Lindi's already changed a ribbon by herself. She'll be coloring her own dresses next."

  Glowing with pride, Lindi showed off the shell-pink ribbon.

  "Very nice! Keep practicing. Before long you'll be able to put on quite a magic show."

  Miska bit her tongue.

  "Have you heard any news, Aunt Doria?” asked Lindi.

  "I'm sorry, no. Let's see ... that little girl Lila's up and walking, talking a bit ... You did a wonderful job, Miska. Your friend Juliar thinks Lila will be able to be part of the New Light ceremony. The young man himself"—Doria chuckled—"well, he said: ‘Please, send Miska over. It's a medical emergency—I'm dying of boredom!’”

  Miska didn't laugh. “Poor Juliar!"

  "I think he'll survive.” Doria's eyes twinkled. “I'm sure we'll see him at the Festival."

  Lindi joined Miska on the bed, and pointed at the silver bag. “Try those. You'll love them. The silver bags always have extra caramels."

  "There's no word of my cousin?” Miska urged. “Oh, this is wonderful chakhali! Have some, Lindi."

  "None—nor of those Steel Thorns, either. No one's heard of them for the last day or so. I suppose it would be too much to hope that they've crawled underground somewhere."

  Miska shuddered.

  "And don't worry about Myringa. I ran into her coming from Miss Foster's.” Doria absently rubbed her elbow. “Literally. She's complaining as loudly as ever."

  "Did she really serve the Temple, once?” Lindi looked skeptical.

  "How did you learn about that? Yes, for a few months.” Doria sat on the edge of the bed. We were in school together, Myri and I. She became ... infatuated with a young man named Thanli Montour. Brilliant fellow, handsome in a brooding sort of way. Aldinan's nothing like him—thank goodness!” Doria laughed.

  "Why? Because Uncle Aldi's a better cook?” Lindi reached for a second chocolate.

  "Because your uncle can laugh, and Thanli never did. Anyway, he served the Temple for a little while, and Myri followed him. Then he left, and Myri followed him again. They started a perfume shop."

  "Is that why Elder Myringa wears so much perfume?” Miska, eyes wide with rapture, was still savoring her first caramel.

  "I assume so. About, oh, ten or fifteen years ago, Thanli was working in Myringa's old distillery—she hadn't used it in months; goodness knows what was in there. It exploded. There was a fire. They never found a trace of Thanli. Poor Myri was devastated. She hasn't been quite the same since. She buys so many mourning candles; I don't know where she finds the room ... Girls! You'll spoil your supper."

  "We haven't been here long enough for anything to spoil,” Miska pointed out. “These are quite fresh."

  "It's just an expression. I have some things to do. Save the candy for dessert!"

  "I've only had three, Aunt Doria,” Lindi protested. “And Miska hasn't even finished that one caramel yet."

  "If I eat that much chakhali at once, I won't sleep for days.” Miska smiled at Lindi, amused. “If you were Kankenni, you wouldn't be able to sit still now."

  "Just so long as you're able to eat supper in an hour,” Doria chuckled, and left.

  "An hour,” Miska mused. She looked over the rainbow array of luxuries on the bed.

  "You don't look very happy for someone who's just gotten forty-three years worth of birthday presents all at once.” Lindi inspected the embroidery on the blue dress, careful not to leave chocolate fingerprints. She nodded approval. “Nice ones, too."

  "They're wonderful.” Miska smiled sadly. “Yo
u've all been kinder than the Elders will ever believe.” She leaned forward with her head in her hands, and then looked up suddenly.

  "Lindi, do you remember that I told you than Kankenni never reveal their names to Humans?"

  "But you told me yours, and Kimo's."

  "Yes. And broke an important rule in doing so. There are other rules, and the greatest is: never tell Humans where we come from."

  Lindi waited, puzzled and curious.

  "But there is another rule, a Trading rule of the P'raptoi. Always give at least equal value for everything you take. Your family—you don't know the good you've done! Not just clothes and candy. Abri will tell the others now that Humans aren't so terrible. Trust is a gift, too."

  "I don't think Abri trusts me."

  "He will. But so you can understand ... I can't show you where my home is, or how to get there, but I can show you what it looks like."

  "Really?” Lindi's eyes sparkled. “The stories say Cantrips live in jeweled palaces."

  "They might have been farther off,” Miska admitted. “Will you let me bring you inside a Mote-picture? Not a frightening one."

  Lindi nodded, and Miska did so.

  "Oh,” said Lindi. “It's ... Oh!"

  "Yes, it is,” said Miska, smiling.

  They stood in the center of the Hall of Illusion. Not one of the more used caverns, but one of the most beautiful. Mote-light touched stone draperies of ocher and ivory, russet and cream. Minarets of gold and columns of faded rose towered over them. Frozen drifts of pearl-white flowstone dipped snowy fringes into a shadowed pool. Every few heartbeats, the musical plink of falling droplets echoed around them. Lindi ventured a few steps toward the pool.

  "The water's very cold,” Miska cautioned.

  "I'm just looking. It looks like a city—all turrets and spiral towers, down in the water."

  "It's really over your head.” Miska pointed at the portcullis of stalactites above.

  "You really live in here?"

  "In other parts. This is much quieter! And more beautiful. Many years of hands—even Kankenni hands!—will wear away the stone. But here you can touch, if you wish. It's only a picture."

  Lindi traced the flow of a stone drapery with a reverent touch.

  "Is this a real place? Where is it?"

  The image flickered. “Please, don't ask me that."

  "All right, but..."

  Lindi's look of awe slowly changed to puzzlement.

  "It's very beautiful,” she said at last. “But I don't see how you can grow things here."

  "You can't. Except mushrooms.” Miska made a face. “I think I'm the only Kankenni in the world who doesn't like them."

  "Or keep herds of cows..."

  "You can't."

  "Or raise chevrals. Or sheep, for wool. Or timber, or fruit trees...” Consternation spread over Lindi's face.

  "No, you can't. Everything we have, we trade for. So many wonders your aunt brought home, in those bags!"

  "This is more beautiful than anything you can put in a bag. But ... it can't be an easy way to live. There's no sunshine."

  "It's not. Every year, more of us die. Do you see, Lindi, why I have to bring Kimo home? Every Kankenni is precious—even rude little boys.” Miska grinned, but Lindi heard the odd note in her voice.

  "What are you thinking, Miska? You have an idea, and I don't think I'm going to like it."

  The image of the Caverns dissolved. Miska sat a long time with her head bent, her braid falling over her shoulder.

  "What are you thinking?” Lindi repeated, softly.

  "I'm not much good at Worldwalking, for a Kankenni. Kimo's mother used to say it's because I'm not much of a Kankenni.” She curled the end of the yellow ribbon around her finger, smiling ruefully. “See how pale? At my age, this should be nearing golden.” She straightened up. “But I know enough to realize how strange this is.” She reached into a pocket, brought out a cloth-wrapped bundle, and unrolled it to show the chunk of Impsbane. The skin had left a crimson stain on the cloth. “Look. What do you see?"

  Lindi looked, squinted. “It's fuzzy. No ... It's covered with Motes! They're all over it."

  "Mm-hm. Remember, Motes like life. Not poison."

  "So?"

  "This is not poison."

  "What is it, then?"

  "That's what I don't know. I have none of the Elders here, none of their skill, none of their equipment. The only way I can think of to test this is to taste it."

  "You're crazy!” Lindi sprang at Miska, yanking the root from her hand. “It's called Impsbane, and you're ... Well, you're an Imp! That ought to tell you something."

  "This tells me something,” Miska agreed, breathing hard. Lindi still stood tense, defiant, clutching the root. “It tells me the Elders are very, very wrong about Humans. They'd never believe you would stop me from poisoning myself.” She smiled. “Put it away. We'll go down to dinner."

  Thrown off balance, Lindi didn't say anything, even when they were all seated at the table.

  "You've been cooking, Elder Aldinan!” Miska said appreciatively, as though nothing had happened. She boosted herself into her chair, and sniffed. “Chicken with garlic, starseed, and ... ginger?"

  "Nothing like cooking for someone who knows her herbs!” The old man beamed with pride. “I won't dare do it again this week—Cook hates having his kitchen invaded. And I'm afraid the salad's not that impressive this time of year."

  "At home, we wouldn't have any salad this time of year.” Miska hesitated a moment, then took a large forkful. She braced her hands on the table. When all the Humans were deep in conversation, she slipped her extra ingredient into her bowl.

  Not too much, she thought. Mustn't frighten them. Just a few slivers, paper-thin...

  The bitterness cut through Aldinan's mix of sweet greens and carrots. Her fingertips began to tingle. Her left foot began to twitch. Everything smelled like marigolds. Motes sprang into the foreground of her vision, like a thousand tiny suns. From somewhere behind the glitter and glare, like the cry of a distant seabird, she heard Lindi calling.

  "Miska ... Are you all right? Miska!"

  The world folded in on itself, and vanished.

  * * * *

  There were Motes everywhere, yet it was dark. Miska looked up and saw nothing but shining black walls, curving around her. It was like being at the bottom of a cistern. There was a peculiar waxy smell to the air, and sharp tapping sounds echoed all around her.

  "Is this the Second World?” she wondered aloud, and though she spoke softly, her voice thundered in her ears. She winced.

  "Button-flies,” she thought. Her dress had several real buttons on it—it would be a simple test. She worked one loose, remembering the delicate face of Illyana's baby. She kissed the button.

  "For her sake, Wondermaker,” she said, and blew.

  It was like a wind, a fountain, a gush of broad luminous wings. Hundreds of button-flies poured forth, brushing her face with a gentle storm of silk. Vibrant scarlet and gold. Rich purple. Blue and green as deep as the sea. They spiraled upward and winked out, showering her with golden light.

  "It is the Second World! Only—more so.” she exclaimed. “I have to tell Lindi."

  Miska strained to see the top of the well. Nothing.

  "Well then.” She shrugged, and became a bird. Not as elegant as Abri's blue-backed kestrel—a simple redbird. Still, the transformation had been so easy! She launched herself upward—and a weight crushed her down, invisible, inexorable, fluid yet heavy as water. Lights sparkled everywhere. She was drowning in a sea of Motes. She would never find Kimo; never get back to the Caverns.

  No! She gathered herself up, and sprang. The world folded again...

  "Miska! Are you all right? Miska!"

  Oh dear, she thought blurrily. Everything's folded too small. I'll have to live the same five seconds forever and ever...

  "Will she be all right? I thought she liked carrots."

  "Maybe it was the radishes, Mr. S
alera. You said this was the only dish she'd touched?"

  "But ... I didn't put any radishes in the salad."

  "Let me see that bowl, Uncle Aldi."

  A long pause. Oh dear, Miska thought. Lindi's going to be very upset. She forced her eyes open. White walls. Too crowded for the Salera dining room...

  "That's not radishes! That's..."

  "Impsbane,” Miska croaked. The world swam back into focus. She was in the Temple infirmary. Juliar turned toward her with a relieved grin lighting his face. Doria, Aldinan and Nurse Dannae restrained Lindi from hurling herself at her bed.

  "You already knew Impsbane is poisonous!” the girl shouted. “What did you do that for?"

  "But it's not poison.” Motes still sparked in and out of Miska's vision, and everything looked wavy, almost translucent. Nurse Dannae took Miska's hand and checked her pulse. She shook her head. “Much too fast."

  "Not poison!” Juliar snorted. He brandished his stick at her. “Nurse Dannae had better check your head, not your hand. You've been thrashing about and babbling for an hour. You're whiter than a wedding candle, your eyes are all pupil—and you think that stuff's not poisonous? I don't want to know what you were thinking of having for dessert!"

  "Juliar, lad, stop shouting,” Nurse Dannae scolded. “You can go finish hanging those New Light decorations now. Miska needs to rest. Everyone, go on, let her be."

  "I need to speak to Lindi, first. Just for a moment. Don't worry; my heartbeat is supposed to be fast.” Miska didn't mention the red trees that seemed to be growing out of Nurse Dannae's cupboards, or the stars sparkling where the ceiling ought to have been. She shook her head, and the visions faded with a sound like tinkling bells. Somewhere, she thought she heard someone call her name...

  "I'll stay, too, Miska, if you'd like.” Juliar offered. “I'll be quiet. I promise."

  The nurse frowned. “Miss Salera may stay for fifteen minutes, while I speak to her aunt and uncle, and let Vedi Sharanis know you're awake. Only Miss Salera. And only fifteen minutes, mind you!"

  Juliar looked hurt. “You make it sound like I'm a bad influence."

  Lindi giggled. “Aren't you?"

  "Girls. Fine. I'll want the whole story sooner or later, you know."