Haven: Book Seven of "The Liminality"

Chapter 15 - Slice of Heaven

The vortex struck with suddenness and violence, whisking Urszula and Jan out of their kitchen, through an unfathomable void, and into a dense copse of willows alive with the scent of wildflowers. Urszula gathered herself off the ground and looked down at Jan, who lay on his back looking up at her, dumbfounded.

"What the fuck happened?" said Jan.

"Give me that stone," she said, reaching down to snatch from his grip before he had a chance to hand it over.

She rolled it around in her palm, careful not to touch the angular notch and deep groove that interrupted its otherwise smooth contours. There was a white line encircling it, but otherwise it was nothing remarkable. It looked like any piece of sand-polished basalt one might pluck off a beach.

Jan regained his footing and leaned in close to her. The copse was one of many similar patches on a landscape of rolling hills and vales. Just beyond the trees slanted a meadow of tall grass interspersed with clover and lupines. A huge chestnut tree loomed over a nearby hilltop with heavy gnarled limbs that spread wide like an angry octopus. A gentle breeze wafted through the willows—not too warm, not too cool. Goldilocks would have loved it.

"Where are we?" said Jan.

"Not sure. That rock was a charm of some sort. It would appear that we are somewhere in the after realms."

"How can you tell?"

"Just a guess. It was in Lothar's possession."

"Maybe it's how he gets around on Earth."

She looked up at the sky. The clouds looked a little too crisp. The sky just a little too blue. Something was off.

"This cannot be Earth."

Jan brushed the leaf litter off his jeans.

"You slept in your clothes again last night. It's becoming a habit of yours."

"Shouldn't we be naked, if this is another realm?"

"Not if this is how higher souls transport themselves. I would imagine they would prefer to stay attired."

"So you think this is where that guy came from?"

"Perhaps. Unless we somehow chose a different destination."

"How?"

"I have no idea."

She retrieved the heavy daypack that had slipped off her shoulders during the passage.

"I see a path!" said Jan.

"I wonder if we can use this to get back," said Urszula, still studying the stone.

"Not yet. Let's have a look around."

She slipped the stone into her pocket and they left the copse for the path that ran beside it. The trail had a surface of packed sand that gave way gently under her bare feet. Its edges were sharp and immaculate. Not a single weed dared stray from its green border.

"Do you hear music?" he asked. "I think it's coming from over that hill."

She hadn't even noticed until he had mentioned it, but indeed there were was the sound of mandolins and guitars—folk music of some sort.

"There are no insects here," he said. "Strange. Not even a gnat."

Again, she hadn't noticed this until he had brought it to her attention.

"Oh! My favorite! Paz krolowej! A swallowtail."

Suddenly the fields were swarming with insects of all sorts.