Meg clutched the rough wooden boards of the old wagon as it jolted and clattered up the dirt road toward Prism Castle.
“Kahle, could you try harder to hit every rock?” She cast a weary grin at the Harna Josharon driving the horses. “I don’t think this boy’s concussion is bad enough yet.”
Kahle threw back his head and laughed, the wind catching in his brown mane. He snapped the reins and looked back over his shoulder at her, snout pulled back over his teeth in a light-hearted smirk.
“There are several large holes ahead, Margaret. I’ll do my best to take them at speed.”
“You’re the best. Thanks.”
He chuckled and turned his attention back to the road.
To be fair, the wagon was old, and the road needed work. Repairing it was one of the long-standing projects that had been on Tolan and Danny’s chore list for more than a year.
Pity things like the harvest and sheep shearing and goat milking and fending off increasingly common Centaur raids had taken precedence.
Meg winced as the wagon jarred her against the boards. She’d be lucky if her spine wasn’t bruised by the end of this. She adjusted her position on the floor of the bed and carefully cradled the boy’s bleeding head in her lap. They’d laid out blankets on top of straw to cushion him as much as possible, but the best help for him was at the castle.
Meg stretched to see through Kahle’s sharp, polished antlers. Ahead, still in the distance, Prism Castle sparkled in the late morning sunshine. The castle’s many turrets stretched into the vibrant blue sky, flags of blue, yellow, and green flapping briskly at the main gate.
The boy in her lap groaned and shifted, and Meg paused. Was he waking up?
Oh. He could wake up. She hadn’t really considered that.
What if he did wake up before they reached Prism Castle? He’d wake up in her lap. Was that okay?
She blinked down at his face, watching the twitch of the muscles in the corners of his eyes and mouth.
He had to be Terran. There was no better explanation, just based on his clothing alone. Unless there were another dimension full of humans out in the continuum who wore sassy shirts and white shoes.
What would she say to him? What if he didn’t speak Common? Meg vaguely remembered hearing several languages in the city she’d lived in as a child. San Francisco. An odd linguistic mishmash of cultures and languages, none of which had made sense to her six-year-old brain.
The boy muttered under his breath, and his face went slack once more. Meg breathed a sigh of relief and pressed her hand against his brow.
Was she curious? Of course. She hadn’t seen another human besides her brother and sister in ten years. Part of her wanted to know everything—and try as she might, she couldn’t ignore that the boy was nice to look at. There was something about the shape of his nose and mouth that she couldn’t stop staring at. And his hair? Human hair was so different from Josharon hair.
Her sister’s hair was baby fine, the color of sunshine. Her brother’s hair was thick and coarse, a shade somewhere between campfire and carrots. But this boy—his hair slid through Meg’s fingers like fine cotton, and it shimmered like spun gold in the light.
Meg pulled her hand away and looked back toward the castle.
Yes, he seemed helpless now. And maybe his arrival was innocent. But then, maybe it wasn’t, and if that were the case, the boy was a threat. She couldn’t afford to see him as anything else until she knew for sure.
A shadow passed in front of the sun, and Meg glanced up as Malaka glided into view overhead, wings spread and mane and tails flapping in her wake. Spiraling in a controlled descent, Malaka shouted to tell Kahle she was coming.
Kahle waved at her and scooted to the side of the bench seat, making room for Malaka to land beside him.
She balanced on the seat and smiled at him. “Miriakham kushi, veera.”
Kahle nodded. “Miriakham kushi, bhaina.”
Malaka clutched the wagon walls in her clawed feet and carefully stepped back to the bed where Meg waited. The Avi female pulled a sling bag off her shoulder and over her wings, setting it next to Meg.
“Zyna has sent more herbs.” Malaka settled in the straw next to Meg. “She will meet us at Palayta Village.”
Good. Palayta Village was closest to Prism Castle, so Zyna kept a small clinic there for various medical needs.
“Velanna?”
“Velanna will have a horse ready for you when we reach Palayta Village.”
Meg scowled. “A horse?”
“She wishes to see the anomaly with her own eyes.” Malaka opened the bag and handed more herb packages and bandages to Meg.
Silently, Meg removed the bloodstained wrapping from the boy’s head and applied the herbs and salves Zyna had sent. Zyna had been appointed to see to the medical needs of the Josharon villages long before Meg and her siblings had arrived. No one knew the art of healing like she did.
Meg glanced at Malaka, who was staring at her pointedly.
“Is Velanna upset?” Meg turned her attention back to the boy.
Malaka scoffed. “As though I could know such a thing.” She gathered the now-empty bag into her arms. “Your mother confounds me. How you understand her, I shall never know.”
Meg smiled to herself. “Velanna is a special person, Malaka. She sees the world in a different way.”
Malaka huffed.
Absently, Meg ran her fingers through the boy’s hair again.
Malaka is right, though. Meg bit the inside of her cheek. Nobody really understands Velanna, except Tolan. But that wasn’t something anyone needed to know about. Velanna carried a lot of respect in the Josharon communities, as she should. Casting doubt on that wouldn’t help anyone.
Malaka leaned closer to the boy, sniffing. “He smells strange.”
“Does he?”
“Yes.” She wrinkled her snout. “Like—salt.”
“Salt doesn’t have a smell.”
“It certainly does.” Malaka lifted her chin. “Human noses are just too underdeveloped to smell it.”
Meg grunted as the wagon jerked and sent a bolt of pain up her back. “Got an estimate of how close we are?”
“We are close.” Malaka touched her shoulder. “I have a question, Meg.”
“Yeah, what?”
“Is this male attractive?”
Meg glanced at her. “What?”
Malaka nodded at the boy. “I am curious.”
“Why?”
“Must I give a reason for my curiosity? I am curious because I am curious.”
Meg rolled her eyes. “Why are you asking me?”
“You are the same species.”
Meg leaned back against the wagon wall. “So? What does that matter?” She threw a smirk at Malaka. “Do you think he’s attractive?”
Malaka’s fur bristled slightly, and she crossed her arms. “Do not change the subject.”
“You think he’s attractive.”
Malaka snorted.
“Oh, Malaka, you think he’s pretty?” Meg giggled. “But he’s hairless! And naked! And smells like salt!”
“Shut up, Meg.”
Meg calmed her laughter, though a few chuckles kept escaping. “That’s great.”
“Truth be told, I find Danny attractive as well.”
Meg stuck out her tongue. “Ugh, that just means you’ve got bad taste.”
Malaka shoved her. “You do not find your brother attractive?”
“No! He’s gross.”
The boy in Meg’s lap groaned and shifted again.
“Oh.” Malaka caught her breath. “Will he wake?”
“I don’t think so,” Meg mumbled.
“What shall you tell him if he does?”
Meg bit her lower lip. “I don’t know.” She met Malaka’s eyes. “If he really is from Terran—and I think he is—Malaka, Terran humans don’t know about this world, and I want to keep it that way.”
“So, you would not send him back to his world?” Malaka quirked an eyebrow.
“I don’t know if we can.” Meg repressed the urge to run her fingers through the boy’s hair again. “I don’t know how, so that would be up to Velanna.”
Malaka narrowed her gaze. “You do not want him here.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I don’t know him,” Meg said sharply. “I don’t know why he’s here.”
“Perhaps he arrived like you and Danny and Jenny did.”
“Maybe.” Meg shrugged. “I hope so.”
“You hope?”
Meg craned her neck to look for signs that they’d be arriving in Palayta Village soon. “Yeah, I hope it was accident. One of those natural rips that Velanna talks about.”
“Why?”
“Malaka, don’t you see? If it weren’t a natural rip in the barrier, that means it was made on purpose.” Meg sat back, staring grimly at the boy in her lap. “That would mean people in Terran have figured out how to walk between the worlds.”
Malaka’s breath shook. “Oh, I see.”
“If Terran finds this world, Malaka, they’ll ruin it.” Meg picked at a piece of straw sticking out from under the blanket. “Terrans ruin everything.”
“Don’t forget, Meg. You are Terran.”
“I was born Terran, Malaka, but that’s not who I am.” Meg adjusted the boy in her lap. His hair slipped over her hands and brushed against her thighs. “Velanna will know what to do.”
Malaka fixed her eyes on the unconscious boy. “Regardless if his arrival is innocent or not, he is a threat then.”
Meg bit her lip.
“He cannot stay without risk, and we cannot send him back without risk.” Malaka folded her wings around her shoulders. “Quite a good deal of trouble for such an attractive boy.”
Meg smirked. “So you do think he’s attractive.”
“As attractive as any human I’ve ever met, in spite of being so utterly naked.” Malaka shuddered.
The wagon rocked and teetered with a suddenness that sent Meg flailing for the edges of the bed.
“Sorry,” Kahle called back. “We are entering Palayta Village.”
Meg huffed under her breath and straightened so she could see around the driving bench. Palayta Village was like all the other Nibe villages, huts built of grass and earth with flowers and herbs growing on their roofs. As the closest village to Prism Castle, Palayta Village was one of the larger communities of Josharons, although the predominant tribe was still Nibe.
Khale brought the wagon to a stop near one of the larger huts on the outskirts of the village. Zyna appeared at the back of the wagon, a cyclone of brown fur and golden-yellow saree folds. She flapped her clawed fingers at the other Josharons she’d dragged along with her, and they worked together to haul the human boy out of the wagon. Zyna chattered a million words a moment, some at Kahle (“What have you done to your antlers, you silly kit?”), some at Meg (“Perhaps the Creator has sent this boy here for you, little one!”), and some at Malaka (“Put your wings away, you haughty chicken-girl!”).
Meg remained in the wagon until Zyna had shut the unconscious boy away in the clinic. Better to stay out of Zyna’s path. But she looked up as a figure appeared at the back of the wagon.
Long black hair tucked into a neat bun beneath a pale green hijab, eyes the color of spruce needles, and elegant pointed ears that curved up the side of her face.
“Tzaitel.” Meg breathed in relief.
The Celtican woman held out her hand. “I came to rescue you from the wrath of Zyna, but I see she has already departed.”
The bell sleeves of her long green tunic flowed in the soft breeze, and the wide pant legs of her matching slacks didn’t hide the sandals she wore. She hadn’t dressed for a journey. So what was she doing in Palayta Village?
“Rescue me from the agony of this wagon instead, didi.” Meg grabbed her adoptive sister’s hand.
Chuckling, Tzaitel pulled her to her feet and held her steady as she stumbled from the bed of the wagon to the wheel and finally to the ground.
“Graceful as ever, Margaret.” Tzaitel smirked, eyes twinkling.
“I didn’t expect to see you here.” Meg glanced back to the wagon where Malaka and Kahle were in the middle of a heated conversation.
Tzaitel gathered Meg under her arm and pulled her toward the edge of the village. “Mother suggested I accompany her. I will remain here with our—guest—while you and Mother go back to Aushadha Village.”
Meg stopped and linked her arm in Tzaitel’s, holding it tightly. “What if he wakes up? What will you tell him?”
“I shall knock him out again. It will be easier.”
“Tzaitel.”
Smiling, Tzaitel squeezed her arm. “If he wakes, he wakes. We shall ford that river once we reach its banks.
Meg rested her cheek on Tzaitel’s shoulder as they walked, drawing in her scent of cloves and cumin. A moment of peace. Tzaitel always made facing a day easier, even if she didn’t actually understand how Meg felt.
But Tzaitel came closer than Velanna did.
Meg straightened as they came around the side of a hut where Velanna waited with two saddled horses.
Velanna Ittai, the matriarch of their unlikely patched-together little family. Stern and fierce and direct, she didn’t mince words and always meant what she said.
That made conversations with her easier in a certain light. You always knew where you stood. Of course, you generally stood beneath her. But as along as you accepted that fact, you could sometimes have a good chat.
“Margaret.” Velanna nodded briskly at her, the sunlight sparkling in the streak of silver hair just barely visible outside her headscarf.
Unlike Tzaitel, Velanna had traded her customary robes for a sturdy riding tunic and Harna-made trousers. Her hair was done up in its usual bun, though, concealed beneath a beaded hijab.
Meg pulled her arm away from Tzaitel and smiled at her. “We’re going back to Aushadha Village?”
Velanna mounted the brown mare with the long-limbed grace of a dancer. “Yes. I am most concerned with this rip Malaka described.”
Meg took hold of the saddle horn on the other horse, a chestnut mare they usually used for plowing. She swung up into the seat like an awkward starfish, pretending the bumps and bruises from the wagon hadn’t affected her coordination, and gathered the reins.
“I will wait with the boy,” Tzaitel said, nodding to her mother and smiling at Meg. “If he wakes—I shall encourage him to wait until you return.”
“If he wakes,” Velanna said imperiously, “do be sure the Josharons remain out of sight. And, please, Tzaitel, keep your hijab in place. Do that and it will be easy enough to mislead him. He is just a Terran after all.”
Tzaitel carefully adjusted her headscarf so that her pointed ears weren’t obvious. “Yes, Mother.”
Velanna looked at Meg. “Come, Margaret. We must ride quickly.” She guided her horse back the direction Kahle had just brought them and kneed the mare forward.
“Go on,” Meg urged her horse after Velanna and waved at Tzaitel.
The horse leaped forward, and Meg bent close to her neck, the smell of the wind washing over her as she melted into the horse’s motion.
The ride back to Aushadha Village was much faster.
Normally riding horseback to Aushadha Village, or its nearby neighbor Chandan Village, took an hour or so. Velanna pushed hard. They made it in forty minutes.
Both horses strained for breath as Meg followed Velanna into the perimeter fence of the village.
“Margaret.” Velanna turned in her saddle, pinning Meg with her teal-colored eyes. “Direct me to the anomaly.”
Meg reined her horse around Velanna and into the forest. “It’s this way.”
“What happened?” Velanna kept pace with her.
“Malaka and I—”
“Just the event, please, Margaret.”
Meg cleared her throat. “We were just standing, and I heard—it sounded like the rip that brought us here.”
Velanna’s expression tightened.
Meg stopped her horse and pointed to the area twenty feet above them, in the tree canopy. Yes, it was faint, but the rip still swirled in place.
Meg’s stomach ached. It was still there.
“That’s it.”
A muscle at the back of Velanna’s jaw twitched, and she swung off her horse. Meg followed.
“Curious,” Velanna whispered under her breath.
She pulled a tablet from her travel bag and started taking notes.
“You say it formed like the rip that brought you and the others here?”
“Yes.” Meg nodded.
“And the Terran fell out of it?” She eyed the distance from the rip to the ground. “He is fortunate his injuries are not more severe.”
“He’s Terran, then?” Meg stepped closer to her.
Velanna glanced down into Meg’s face. Her expression softened slightly. “I believe so. From what I observed as Zyna had him moved and what Malaka reported to me, it seems the most logical option. Terran is the nearest world to us on the interdimensional spectrum, and rips large enough to transport people through the barrier are not without precedent.” She raised her eyebrows at Meg.
“Right.” Meg smiled.
“What is curious is that the rip itself remains.” Velanna grimaced. “This is troubling.”
Meg folded her arms. “I knew it was a problem, but I don’t know why.” She stared up at the churning patch of reality.
Velanna tucked her tablet back into her bag. “If it were a naturally occurring interdimensional rip, it would have not have been able to sustain its form after ejecting its foreign material.” Velanna flashed a smile. “The human.”
“I’ve been called a lot of things, Velanna. Foreign material is a new one.”
Velanna chuckled softly and reached out to pluck a strand of straw out of Meg’s hair. “Forgive the technical jargon, my dear. You’re not foreign at all.”
“Ha, ha.”
Velanna dropped her hand and returned her gaze to the rip. “No, it is not a natural rip. It remains, so it was created artificially.”
Meg’s stomach rolled over. “What does that mean?”
“It means what we feared all along, Margaret.” Velanna smiled sadly. “Someone in Terran has discovered a means to breach the barrier.”
Cold fear seeped through Meg’s body as Velanna’s words sank in. Terran had found them? How was it possible? Terran was supposed to be centuries behind Andaria in their technological advancements.
“This is awful, Velanna,” Meg whispered.
“It is worse than that, my dear.” Velanna turned. “Come.”
“Worse?” Meg followed her. “How is it worse?”
“The rip is faulty.” Velanna grabbed her horses reins and swung back into the saddle.
Meg did the same. “I don’t understand. It brought the boy here.”
Velanna guided the horse back to the road. “If the rip had been constructed properly, it would remain open completely until it was shut down. That rip remains, but it has faded. Which means it is drawing energy to remain open from a source outside of what originally created it.”
“What source?”
“I do not know.” Velanna looked at her, face drawn and eyes worried. “I have—not seen this, Margaret. Come. We must return and speak to the Terran.”
“Velanna?” Meg whispered. “Are we in trouble?”
The Celtican elder stopped the horse and took a deep breath before she turned back to Meg.
“Margaret, if we do not find a way to close this rip within a few hours, it will not matter that Terran has found us.” Her jaw clenched. “An out-of-control interdimensional rip will eventually consume everything around it.”
“Everything?”
“Yes, Margaret.” Velanna gathered her reins, glancing at the village, at the castle barely visible on the horizon, and then back at Meg. “Everything.”

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