oing through an inter-dimensional wormhole feels a lot like being inside a spinning salad bowl.
The five of us tossed and turned uncontrollably—our bodies lost in turbulence and our perspective blurred by gushing waves of green, purple, and blue. The sparks that had been surrounding the hole’s entrance zipped around like energetic piranhas. They bit at our skin; sometimes I even felt like they’d entered my bloodstream and were burning through my veins. Needless to say, thinking happy thoughts definitely did not help.
The wormhole eventually spat us out into an ocean. Unlike the body of water we’d entered from, this one was warm, turquoise, and tropical. Even from the depths we emerged in, I could see streaks of sunshine. Just as we noticed this, we also witnessed the black hole we’d come from suddenly seal itself off. It vanished into the wall of infinite blue surrounding us.
With nowhere to go but up, the others and I headed for the surface. As soon as oxygen hit our lungs, the gills on our necks vanished. Holding up our fingers, we saw that the webbed skin went with them, as did our weird eye colors. Air must’ve been the trigger that stopped the taffy’s magic. The enchantment having ended, we took in the sunny atmosphere of our new environment.
None of us had obviously ever been to another realm before. So none of us knew exactly what to expect. As such, we were simultaneously wide-eyed and on guard.
As far as first introductions to new worlds went, this one was about as welcoming as it could get. Everything in sight was picturesque. The sky was a lazy shade of cyan. The scarce clouds were white, poofy, and casually floating about. And the seagulls flew with dancer-like grace as they meandered from left to right without worry of destination.
I glanced around and saw that in almost every direction there was nothing but ocean and open space. That is, except for some hundred meters away where a modest boat was anchored. Its paneling was white, its sail was forest green, and painted on its side were two unmistakable words: The Seabeagle. Without a doubt it was the same boat that had passed through my dreams on the magic train.
“That’s where we need to go,” I said, nodding in the direction of the vessel.
“How do you know that?” Jason asked.
“Just trust me,” I replied automatically.
They all gave me a unified look of disbelief. I guess I didn’t blame them. After the magic train, it was a bit presumptuous (and idiotic) to think they’d put their faith in me again so soon.
Still, we had no other option but to go toward the boat. And since this was not the time to have the whole “by the way, I have psychic dreams” conversation, I had to leave it up to my go-to fallback: classic, simple sarcasm.
“Ugh, fine. Don’t trust me.” I shrugged as I continued to tread water. “You can stay here and doggy paddle to your hearts’ content until another boat sails this way to pick you up. I’m sure one will be by soon, what with this being the middle of nowhere and all. Me? I’m gonna go hitch a ride on the one that’s already here.”
With that said, I started to slowly swim for the boat. The others begrudgingly followed like I knew they would. After all, what other choice did they have?
After a short time of paddling (in my case, painful paddling since I no longer had Lonna’s magical, current-controlling buffer), we arrived at the humble vessel. The boat bobbed along in the water directly beneath the beating sun. I squinted to gaze up at it.
I was about to ask the others for suggestions on what to do next when a figure stepped in front of the glare—providing a shadow that allowed me to see both the boat and its passenger more clearly.
The man was dark skinned and muscular like a lumberjack. He had a pleasant face, from what I could tell, and thick locks that matched his charismatic facial hair—a mustache and trimmed beard combo that added to his rugged charm.
“How did you kids get all the way out here?” the man asked as he stepped toward the boat’s railing to get a better look at us.
“It’s a long story,” Daniel responded. “Uh, where is here by the way?”
“Uh, that’d be Bermuda,” the man said, confused by the question.
He studied us for a moment. Blue’s hooded cloak, Daniel’s sheath, and the axe on Jason’s back must’ve seemed peculiar to him, especially when compared with the open flannel shirt, tank top, khaki shorts, and sandals he was wearing. Now that I thought about it, outfits and accessories aside, five kids treading water in the middle of the ocean probably seemed a bit odd to him too.
“You kids aren’t from around here are you?” the man asked.
“Um, not quite,” I said.
“Uh-huh,” the man nodded. “So did you find your way to the hole by accident or on purpose?”
“I . . . I’m not sure what you mean.”
“It’s all right. I know a lot more about those crazy wormholes than you might think,” the man said. “Look, just wait here. My wife can explain better than I can.”
The man turned around and disappeared from view.
“Ash, doll! Will you come here for a sec?” I heard him shout. “I think you might want to see this!”
A minute later the man returned with a woman at his side. This woman wore floral shorts and a blue blouse that matched a brace strapped to her right knee. She was about the same age as the man (somewhere in her mid to late forties) and had big, curly, chestnut hair and matching eyes. I immediately recognized her face from the many pictures I’d seen of her in Adelaide Castle during our school field trip.
“What’s with all the hullaballoo?” the woman asked as she approached the railing.
The man did not need to answer the question. She stopped tersely when she saw the five of us floating in the water.
The woman stared at us in a way that suggested as much happiness and surprise as it did sadness. I stared at her as well, thinking that this was both too good to be true and very confusing given her age.
“You’re Ashlyn, aren’t you,” I said. “Princess Ashlyn of Adelaide?”
The woman repeated the name out loud as if she was remembering something long gone. “Princess Ashlyn of Adelaide . . .”
Then she snapped out of her haze and smiled down at us warmly. “Sounds like a good name for a girl in a book, doesn’t it? Oh well, since none of us are in one anymore, how about you just call me Ashlyn. It’s a little less formal, a little less fairytale, and a little more me these days.”