Three days later, Peter walked out of the barracks with Marla to begin their journey. The Capital was quite some ways away, though, and Peter was told it could take months to get there. That seemed ridiculous to him, as his travel experience was of the modern Earth variety, but he supposed without airplanes, trains, and other motorized vehicles people must move slowly.
“And you remember the plan, yes?”
Peter rolled his eyes. Marla was worried they would get separated, so he had the directions written down, maps, and she kept quizzing him. “We take the wagon past the farmlands and through the forest. When we reach the mining town the hills are too steep, so we go on foot over the mountain. Follow the water down until we reach a fishing village, where we wait for a boat through the grasslands. We transfer to a bigger boat to cross the lake, where we should be able to hitch a ride on some new contraption that goes straight to the Capital. We might have to join a caravan instead.”
“This region is relatively safe, but things can still happen. This is important, Peter.”
“I know. Wouldn’t it be better if there were more of you?”
“What, like the escort of a foreign dignitary?”
“I kinda am, aren’t I?”
“Not really. You’re a stranded extra-worldly traveler coming to beg for assistance.”
“I don’t have the authority to speak as an ambassador, anyway. Where is our wagon?”
“Outside the north gate. I’ve arranged to have it loaded with supplies for the first leg.”
The wagon itself wasn’t too surprising to Peter, as it was a box with four large, spoked wheels. It was the beast of burden attached to it. What appeared to be a tusked bison stood eight feet at the shoulder. “What is this?”
“They’re peaceful.”
“That’s nice, but what do I call it?”
“I don’t know its name, Peter. The handlers take care of it.”
“No, the type of animal! If I went to a livestock market, what would I ask for?”
Marla replied with something that had too many consonants for Peter to make sense of.
“I think I’ve found the limit of the translation stone. I would call it a tusked bison.”
“That’s gibberish,” she started, then nodded. “Limitations. Good to know.”
Just then a man bustled up, clearly on a mission, ushering them up onto the wagon while a second checked over the draft animal’s harness.
“Where are we meant to sit?”
“There is a bed in the wagon, or the bench out front.”
“With the driver?”
“Driver? The beast will follow the wagon in front of us. Nobody needs to sit here controlling it.”
“Oh, that’s not how it works where I’m from.” Peter dropped the large duffel he had been carrying on the bed. “Where should I stow this?”
“Wherever. Probably best to stuff it under the bed.”
As he did so, it finally dawned on Peter that their wagon only had one bed. “Wait … only one bed?”
“It would be a bit foolish to waste space with more, wouldn’t it? It’s big enough for four, anyway.”
“Maybe four of you. My bed back home is this size, and it is awkward having a second person.”
“More of that nonsense like changing, I suppose. You’ll need to get used to it. We aren’t royalty.”
“If you say so. I’m going to sit outside, at least for now. See what there is to see.” Before Marla could answer, Peter was climbing the ladder to the hatch. It seemed strange to go so high up until he opened the hatch and still barely saw over the beast’s hump. No sooner had he sat down than there was a yell at the front of the line and the wagons lurched into motion one by one.
Seeing the hedges and stone walls surrounding fields roll by quickly became monotonous, but there were plenty of strange animals to be seen. Even the hedges became interesting, however, when Peter noticed he had never seen a plant quite like it.
When noon came with the sun directly overhead, the heat became too much for Peter and he slipped back down to the bed. Boredom quickly claimed him, though he didn’t believe he would be able to sleep with the noise and the motion. He dug out the journal Marla had secured for him and started his entry, including a sketch from memory of the tusked bison.
“This is what your writing looks like?”
“Yes.”
“Looks strange, like something the sages would study.”
“Where I’m from your writing would be seen as some sort of demon summoning.”
“Really?”
“Maybe. Hard to say.”
“I’ve been thinking.”
Marla was waiting for something, so Peter indicated she should continue with “that can be dangerous, you know.”
“Funny. Your translation spell is contained in that stone. What happens if you lose it? You wouldn’t be able to communicate with anyone.”
“I suppose.”
“Maybe we should start working on teaching you the language we speak here, just in case.”
“Languages aren’t my strong suit, but sure, might as well.” Taking the pendant off, they got down to it.
The wagon creaked to a halt, distracting Peter from his lesson. He went back up to the bench, finding they had stopped next to a large pond in the shade of massive trees. They looked to be conifers yet had apple-like fruit instead of cones. It was the third day, and they were about to finally leave the sprawling farmland behind.
As he watched, the tusked bison were unhitched, led to the pond, then led back to their wagon, one at a time. It seemed horribly inefficient to Peter, but he wasn’t about to try and change things.
Not wanting to waste an opportunity, he dropped down to the ground and walked a short way off to pee on a bush. All the little bugs looked oddly familiar despite being truly bizarre on closer inspection. The smells and sounds of the woods were vaguely familiar, and Peter felt himself relaxing.
Something leapt from a bush and chomped down on his fingers.
“What the hell?” he shouted as he stumbled back to the wagons. There was a lot of laughter, even after one of the handlers grabbed his wrist and pried the thing off. It looked something like a squirrel, but also a ferret, and Peter looked at his bleeding finger. He hoped it wasn’t carrying some disease.
Marla was there, Peter didn’t know how, fussing over the bite. “We’ll have to get this cleaned up and bound. What were you thinking? Petting wildlife?”
“I didn’t even see the thing until it attacked me. I was just walking past a bush!”
“A bit territorial, they are. Especially if they have young around.”
“Then I’m glad there wasn’t one in the bush I was urinating on.” Marla laughed, though she tried to hide it.
“Well, I’ve got some things in the wagon. Best tend to it before we start moving again.”
Peter agreed. The road was getting rougher the further from the city they travelled.
“If it took us more than two days to get here, how long will we be in these woodlands?”
“Oh, at least three times as long. Maybe twice that, since the going can be slower. In a hurry?”
“By now people will have definitely noticed I’ve gone missing. They’ve probably called the police, who likely started an investigation. People must be worried. It will be assumed that I’ve been murdered, and my body hidden away somewhere.”
“I didn’t follow most of that, sorry. I don’t know much about travelling between worlds, but I do remember that doorways between places are necessarily also doorways between times. Something about places always moving. Maybe what you fear is happening now, but when we send you back you might step out only minutes after you had left.”
“I don’t want to think about time travel paradoxes and their splitting timelines.”
“This is something you know about?”
“It’s a popular theory, usually only coming up in works of fiction. Some storylines get hard to follow.”
“Interesting. There, you’re all patched up. Just in time, too.”
The wagon started creaking and swaying once more. Peter sighed and sprawled out on the bed.
Unlike the previous two nights, when they stopped it was not in the yard of an inn, complete with barns and stables. No, they circled the wagons, hobbled the bison, and cooked over a fire. There was music and dancing, and above them bioluminescent insects flickered around like an ever-changing night sky.
“What about you, what can you play?” Peter blinked. One of the others he hadn’t spoken to was looking at him.
“I … I never learned to play anything very well. Years ago I had something like that—” he pointed at a copper tube with six holes— “but I don’t have one with me.”
“Oh, there are plenty around. My uncle makes them, and we sell them to children as we travel, mostly.”
Peter looked to Marla for help. “I’m sure we can afford one,” she said with a smile. A flash of coins and he had a fresh penny whistle in his hands. “Well go on, play us something.”
“It’s been a long time.” They clearly weren’t willing to take no for an answer. Peter let out a resigned sigh, took a breath, and put the whistle to his lips. His fingers surprised him, remembering the scale. At least the simple instruments were effectively limited to one key.
After Hot Cross Buns, Mary Had a Little Lamb, and Frere Jacques, Peter ran out of things to play. There was some giggling, and he yawned. Thankful for the out, he didn’t waste time climbing into his wagon. But he didn’t want to sleep just yet, so he went up through the hatch and lay on the roof, watching the fireflies. Or whatever they were.
Sunrise found Peter slowly waking with Marla snuggled up against him. It hadn’t been nearly as awkward as he had expected, sharing this bed. The previous two nights had been spent in Inns, where they didn’t even have a room to themselves. There were several others sharing those massive beds, so this was actually pleasant. There was a bit of a chill in the air, and he needed to pee. But he didn’t want to disturb Marla. To his relief, she rolled away from him, and he hurried out to relieve his bladder.
Having learned his lesson, he carried a stick and prodded around before he did so, not giving the carnivorous squirrels an opportunity.
Turning around to return to the wagon, Peter found himself face-to-face with some massive beast, whether wolf or bear he couldn’t tell. Heart pounding, throat tight and refusing to call out, he started backing slowly away, hoping there weren’t more.
“Bently! Don’t be scaring our guest!” The wolf-bear looked behind it, then lay down and rolled onto its back. A girl stood behind it, hands on hips. At least, Peter assumed it was a girl as she was only waist high, but as he stared, he couldn’t help noticing she wasn’t child shaped. She was woman shaped. “Sorry about that. He’s just doing his job and protecting me. What brings you to my garden?”
“Uh … sorry if I’m trespassing. My bladder was in need of draining so I stepped away from the caravan.” She giggled. Apparently, that was amusing.
“I saw that, silly, I meant why are you travelling!”
“Oh, I’m heading for the Capital. I’m told it will take a few months.”
“The Capital? I’ve never been, but my cousin says it’s horribly boring, not enough trees. Why would you want to go there?”
“I need to petition for permission to try opening a doorway home. I imagine I will also have to find someone who can do that, since I’m not the one who opened the one that brought me here.”
“You’re weird.”
“I’m not from this world.”
“That was dreadfully obvious.”
“It wasn’t to the two men who saw me arrive.”
“Not everyone can see the nature of what is in front of them.”
“I suppose that is true no matter where you go.”
“I like you. Maybe I’ll go to the Capital, too.”
“I thought it was treeless and boring?”
“Well, yes, but I imagine watching you will be very entertaining.”
“Oh, uh, thanks? Was there something you wanted?”
“I was wondering why you felt it necessary to violate that bush before you violated it.”
“Huh?”
“You beat it with a stick before you pissed on it.”
“Oh. Yesterday I had a carnivorous squirrel jump out of one and bite my finger,” he held up the bandaged appendage, “and I’d rather not have a repeat experience. Especially with other parts of me.”
“Oh, no, we couldn’t have that happen. What’s a squirrel?”
“Little furry animal that runs around climbing trees and jumping from one to another? Likes to eat seeds and nuts, hiding them away for winter? Big fluffy tail?”
“We don’t have those here. There are some delicious mushrooms behind you. Would you like them for your breakfast?”
“Uh, no thanks. Strange foods rarely agree with me.” Peter held his stomach at the thought. “I’m going to go back to the wagons now. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your day.”
“Silly, my day is watching you!”
“Why?”
“Because I want to!”
Peter put a hand to his temple and hurried back to the wagon without another word.