Betwixt and Between

By Doug Lewars

When young Jerry dies as the result of a car accident, he finds himself in the Mid-world, a place between the First-World of the living and an unknown Third-World that can only be reached with the aid of a Transitioner. But finding a Transitioner proves more than a little difficult. The Mid-world is a strange place populated with elves, gnomes, trolls, dwarves and other creatures known to the living only through stories. Nevertheless they are real and some are very dangerous. It is a world in which a particularly dangerous magic user is attempting to increase his power and before Jerry understands his own situation, he is caught up in in a web of intrigue and danger as the elves, and eventually the dwarves, attempt to save their own world; and, by extension, the world of the living.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Doug Lewars
• Release date: May 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310774089

Doug Lewars

Although not quite over-the-hill, Doug is certainly approaching the summit. He lives in Etobicoke which is a polite way of saying West Toronto. When not exercising such creative talents as he may possess, Doug may be found gardening or out somewhere fishing. He comes with a large bald spot, a dark sense of humour, and a fondness for chocolate eclairs – or chocolate anything actually.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

For his seventh birthday, Jerry received a brand-new shiny red bicycle. Actually it wasn’t new. His father picked it up for next to nothing at a second-hand store and refurbished it; but to be fair, it looked new. All the dirt and old grease had been carefully washed off, the rust sanded away and a fresh coat of paint applied. Damaged and missing spokes were replaced, new tires fitted on the rims and a bell added. A genuine-imitation leather seat replaced an old one of mostly torn plastic over a few rusty springs. There was no possible way Jerry could not think the bike was new which was how his father wanted it. The man wasn’t cheap, but didn’t like to spend money unnecessarily.

The fact Jerry had never before ridden a bike did not bother father or son. Jerry was confident he could and his father was confident his son would learn. He figured the boy would probably fall off a few times, and eventually gain bike-riding skills along with any number of scrapes and bruises. Jerry, for his part, figured if he could go fast enough; he’d be fine.

The bike was a bit too big and Jerry’s feet didn’t reach the ground. This was not an accident. Jerry’s father knew eventually the lad would grow into the bike, and it would last longer if it were a little too large at the start. Being a bit too big did not make riding impossible – a little tricky perhaps but not impossible. To start with, his father held it in place while Jerry climbed on. Then he walked a few yards down the driveway, gave a push and the lad was riding.

The driveway sloped gently which provided some assistance, but was not steep enough to be dangerous. However, because Jerry equated speed with stability, he elected to turn right at the street, and continue in that direction because the street angled downward. The turn was a bit wobbly but he stayed in the saddle much to his father’s surprise. His dad had expected him to simply fall off when he came to the end of the driveway.

Between pedaling and going downhill, Jerry was able to go quite quickly and he thought he was doing very well. In fact, the boy really was getting the feel of riding a bike with remarkable rapidity. The problem, of course, was, using velocity to provide stability, may be good physics - insofar as it makes use of the gyroscopic principle - but one should probably give some consideration to the mechanics of stopping. Jerry never once considered stopping as either an option or an eventuality until he proceeded at a fine clip through the stop sign at the end of the street and was promptly struck broadside by a blue Ford sedan.

Although the speed limit was thirty miles-per-hour, the woman driving the Ford was late for an appointment and traveling closer to forty-five when she rammed him. It was a good clean hit unimpeded by brakes on either side, and Jerry executed a perfect quintuple end-over-end flip a lateral distance of some fifty feet whereupon he met the pavement once more, this time without the intervening bicycle. Sadly he was unable to enjoy his own performance because the impact was so severe he was quite dead before the first rotation was complete. It was so sudden in fact, and the woman so taken by surprise, she completely failed to brake even after the collision until she had overtaken the body and driven one white-walled tire across his head thereby guaranteeing a closed coffin at the funeral.

Jerry found himself hovering twenty feet off the ground over a crowd who were gathering around his final remains. He was in no doubt he was dead, and it didn’t distress him unduly. He had been dead on many occasions when playing Cowboys and Indians with his pals. One simply collapsed when shot, preferably in the most dramatic manner possible, counted to one-hundred and then got up and rejoined the game. However he was pretty certain counting to one-hundred wasn’t going to work this time, and the gooey mess that had once been his body wasn’t about to get up anytime soon - or ever for that matter.

So this is death he thought. I wonder what comes next. He knew, in theory, one went up to heaven or down to hell, but he didn’t seem to be moving at all. He just hovered. Although his parents were regular church goers and took him with them, he hadn’t paid a great deal of attention during Sunday school. He understood the basics - namely good people go to heaven and bad people to hell - but he thought it happened instantaneously, and he didn’t recall anything about hovering. Nevertheless this was what he seemed to be doing.

The police came. The ambulance came. The police made notes and the ambulance attendants scraped up the mess and took it away. Eventually the ambulance departed, the police departed, the crowd dispersed to find entertainment elsewhere, and normal traffic resumed through the intersection and still he hovered over moving traffic and a gradually diminishing stain.

He wondered if perhaps he’d become an angel and looked over his shoulder but there were no sign of wings. He tried flapping his arms without success. He tried making swimming motions with his arms but that didn’t do anything. He even tried kicking his legs but still remained stationary. Finally it occurred to him he had nothing with which to move and any attempt at physical movement was unlikely to get him anywhere. So if he couldn’t move physically, he decided to try mentally.

He thought about descending and sure enough, slowly, very slowly, his height dropped until he was just above the cars. He did not venture further. He knew the cars had done their damage, and it should no longer be possible for them to hurt him, but he was just a little nervous around traffic. Having been killed was somewhat off-putting. Next he imagined himself moving laterally to the side and eventually he found himself standing on the sidewalk, or at worst, a couple of inches above it. It was about then a fat man, who was hurrying, possibly late for an appointment, walked right through him. It wasn’t exactly an unpleasant feeling because he wasn’t feeling much of anything, but it was disconcerting. To have someone walk through you like you weren’t there at all … and then it occurred to him he wasn’t there at all. And he began to wonder if he’d become a ghost. Another man approached and Jerry called out Good morning, although by then it was probably afternoon. In any event his greeting had no effect and once again a person walked through him. Before anyone else could do the same, he moved close to the front of the building - a restaurant as it happened - and enabled pedestrians to go by, rather than through.

He didn’t feel like a ghost although he wasn’t sure how a ghost should feel; nevertheless, he had no urge to haunt anyone. As an experiment he tried a few boos and a couple of ooooaaahhooos but no-one gave the slightest indication they heard so he gave up. He decided if he wasn’t automatically taken to heaven, then perhaps it was a manual process so he tried rising. He managed to reach about three hundred feet in the air which provided a good view, but he couldn’t seem to go any higher so evidently heaven wasn’t approached via levitation. He didn’t attempt to see how low he could go. Some experiments, he thought, are best not attempted. Then it occurred to him perhaps he could combine his vertical and horizontal movements in the form of a glide and that worked surprisingly well. It wasn’t fast but he didn’t have any pressing appointments so could take his time.

Time was something he didn’t usually have much of – well that and space. In fact, Jerry realized, his life was quite constrained. His mother woke him in the morning. He washed his face, or at least dampened it, or failing that, got the cloth wet, dressed in whatever his mother left out for him, went down to breakfast, ate whatever had been prepared, and then set out for school carrying a lunch also made by his mother. At school he did whatever the teachers told him to do. He decided if he wasn’t immediately required to be in either heaven or hell, he might as well do a bit of exploring.

It took a while, but eventually he glided to a park located about two miles north of where he lived. He even managed to modify gliding into walking, although admittedly, he wasn’t always in contact with the sidewalk. Once in the park he settled himself comfortably on a bench. It’s difficult to define ‘comfortably’ for someone who doesn’t feel much; but then, park benches, being made of wood and cement, aren’t conducive to comfort in the first place; so his situation wasn’t any worse than that of anyone else.

It was mid-September and the weather was warm, not that he noticed, but both birds and squirrels were busy at whatever birds and squirrels do with their time and he quite enjoyed watching them. A few walkers passed, but they didn’t, and apparently couldn’t take notice of him. At least they weren’t inclined to sit on him so he ignored them. At last an older woman pushing a grocery cart loaded with bags came along and sat down on the opposite end of the bench. Been dead long? she asked.

No not long, replied Jerry and then did a double take. Hey, you can see me!

Hah! Can see right well enough. Got two good eyes and knows how to use ‘em I does. There’s plenty don’t you know. Can’t see an old bag lady what needs a few dollars they can’t. But, I suppose you’se right too. Not too many can see them what’s in the middle like this.

What do you mean ‘in the middle’?

Why betwixt and between! Neither above nor below! Dead but not lied down so to speak. In the middle.

Um, I don’t think I understand, said Jerry.

No ‘course not. How long you been dead?

Well the accident happened this morning so I’d guess about six hours.

Nah, haven’t heard any sirens going today. What happened to you?

I was riding my bicycle for the first time and couldn’t stop. A car ran into me.

South o’ here?

Yes, a couple of miles or so.

Boy mashed on Dover Ave. at the intersection with Chestnut?

Right, that’s where it happened.

Then you been dead a week.

A week?! gasped Jerry, No, it was just this morning.

In the papers it was, and I only gets ‘em a day or two after they come out when people tosses ‘em in the trash. I read about it. It was a week ago. Time moves funny here. Sometimes it goes by real fast. Sometimes it slows right down. Most times it’s normal. Hard to tell day to day what it’s gonna be.

Do you happen to know what comes next?

‘What comes next?’ Oh there’s a good one. If I’d be known what comes next I’d be rich. Have me out to the racetrack I would and bet on all the winners, she cackled.

I mean do you know how I get to heaven?

Don’t know if there is a heaven or t’other place either. Folks what dies comes here and sooner or later they meet a transitioner who shows ‘em how to move on. There’s three places you know. There’s the world everybody lives in. Folks there mostly can’t see them what lives here, but I can and mebbe a few others. The ones living here can see and touch the other world sure enough, but mostly they just let it be. Them what dies comes here and then they go to the Thirdworld, but don’t come back to talk about it so’s I can’t tell you what it’s like. But I’m pretty sure it’s different from anything you might expect if you been listening to all them ministers and preachers and stuff.

What’s a transitioner?

It’s like a helper or a guide for them what’s dead. Mostly theys right here when someone dies, but not always. Just lazy I think. Like it’s their job to get people from this world to the next, but they don’t seem to do more than they have to.

What do they look like?

They looks normal enough. Looks like a tall thin man wearing a long coat and walking slowly.

Like Death you mean? asked Jerry who’d seen pictures of the specter. Does he have a shroud and a scythe and is he a skeleton underneath?

Nah, looks more like one of them accountants what hasn’t had a decent meal in some months and no scythe or skeleton. Just normal. Moves slow though. Never seen one rushing. Don’t have nothing to do with an old bag lady. I’s still alive!

Okay, well I guess I can wait here or maybe just travel a bit until I come across one. I can ask. People out there can’t see or hear me, so when I find someone who can, that will be a transitioner.

Daft! I can see and hear ye and I’m no transitioner. And there’s plenty of others in the between what ain’t transitioners. You have to be careful lest you meet with an askan or even worse a Belaskan. She shuddered.

What are they?

She lowered her voice. Askans can’t live but what they gets their energy from others. You meets with an askan, he’ll leave you limp as a dishrag. Be days, probably weeks before you recover. They’s bad business. But the Belaskans… She lowered her voice still further so Jerry had to lean closer to hear. The Belaskans, they’s askans what thinks. She tapped her head. Your askan, he takes your energy and leaves you be, but the Belaskans, they keep you and use you over and over. You be like their cows or chickens - just kept alive enough to feed ‘em, but never strong enough to do anything. She leaned closer to Jerry so their heads were almost touching. They makes slaves of your soul they do!

Jerry gasped. Do they kill you?

She waved her hand dismissively, Can’t kill you. You’se already dead. Death ain’t so much. Plenty worse things than death. You be a Belaskan slave and that’s worse than being dead. You be just alive enough to feed the master, but you have no life of your own. And they keeps you as long as they want and you don’t ever get to move on.

What do they look like?

She paused as if lost in thought and then said slowly, Not sure exactly. Generally by the time you see one he’s got you. Hard to get me ‘cause I’s still alive, but I don’t stick around to see what he can do. It’s like a shadow, but a cold one. Even you what’s dead can feel the cold. And it doesn’t have much shape or shapes changing all the time. Not sure. Soon as I sees the shadow or feels the start of the cold I runs. You wouldn’t think these old legs could run anymore, but when one of them Belaskans comes around I can run right smartly.

They both fell silent for a minute and then she continued in a whisper, Worst of all is a Nac Belaskan. Most Belaskans, they’s not too bright. They hunt and if they find you, they make you their slave, but mostly you can avoid them or escape if you keep your wits about you. But the Nac Belaskans, they’s smart, and they can disguise themselves to look like anyone or anything they want. And they’ve got the magic and they can use it. Not too many of them thank the Lord, or there’d be no-one left in the Midworld. I’ve never seen a Nac Belaskan. Heard tell of them though. Plenty of stories about them but I can’t say what’s true or not. Nasty piece of work they are. That’s for sure.

How did you hear about them? asked Jerry.

The old woman turned and looked at him. You are new to the place aren’t you? There’s plenty here what aren’t transitioners or askan. There’s elves and gnomes and goblins and fairies and just about everything you can think of from the stories you read. I can see ‘em, and folks thinks I’m nuts ‘cause I talks to ‘em and they think I’s talking to myself. But I knows things they don’t. I may be old and I may be dirty. I’m certainly poor and ragged, but I sees things I do. I’m not as daft as they think.

Are there ghosts here? Am I a ghost?

Ghosts don’t exist. At least not the kind people think of when they say ‘ghost’. Sometimes when people die they leave something behind like a hologram. You know what a hologram is?

Jerry nodded.

That’s why people believe in ghosts. But there ain’t any real truth in it.

Jerry nodded and looked around. It was still the same park as before but it seemed subtly different. The stream was still running with the water making gurgling sounds as it flowed over and around rocks, formed eddies into little pools and then ran on again. To Jerry’s left was a large maple tree, the home of numerous squirrels who seemed quite content to ignore the interlopers and go about their business of harvesting food for the fall. A breeze picked up a candy wrapper, tossed it several times in the air and then deposited it on Jerry’s sleeve. He absently picked it off and then did a double take. I can touch this! he said.

’Course you can. You’se sittin’ on the bench ain’t you? Just ‘cause you’re dead don’t mean you can’t touch stuff.

But people just walked through me.

Them’s people. These are things. They’s a difference right enough. And you’se got a body and you’se can be hurt too.

But I’m dead.

Dead just means you can’t be killed. But you can be stopped sure enough.

What do you mean?

Look, if you’se alive an’ someone chops off your head, you’se dead. Right?

Right.

But if you’se dead and someone chops off your head, you’se still just as dead. Right?

Makes sense.

So if you’se dead, you’se dead. But if your body don’t got no head, and your head don’t got no body, then they’s not much you can do until you get them back together. Follow me?

I guess so.

Right. So you’se stopped. And it may take you a long time to get them back together and in all that time you’se stopped. But you can get your head back to your body in, oh I don’t know, a few minutes, maybe a day, couple of weeks tops, ‘lessen someone’s taken one or t’other away and hidden it. But, let’s suppose you been eaten, say by a troll. Now you’se all over the place and you’se got to use your noggin to get everything together again.

But wouldn’t my noggin, I mean my head, be gone too?

I just mean you gots to think yourself back together again. That’s usin’ your noggin’. And if you’se in little bitty pieces it can take a long time – couple centuries or maybe more. Maybe lots more. And you can feel it and it can hurt too. And until you get back together again, you can’t transition. And let’s suppose someone takes a piece of you - don’t have to be a large piece - say just a finger or a part of a finger, an’ hides it with magic so’s you can’t find it easy like. Then you’se in real trouble ‘cause until you do find it you can’t transition. You’se stuck. So just ‘cause you’se dead don’t mean you don’t have to be careful. Plenty here got’s swords and knives and arrows and some’s got poison and magic too and some’s friendly and some’s not, so you’se gots to be careful.

I see, said Jerry looking rather frightened, but do I really have a body? I think the car killed mine.

That’s the truth of it, you’se body’s gone but you’se still got a body. I know it don’t make no sense at first. But it’s like this - all your life you had a body and it was a certain way. And now you’se dead, you still thinkin’ the same way. So you makes a body for yourself just natural like. It’s not like your old body but it seems the same.

So could I make myself any body I wanted?

You could in theory, but you’se been livin’ with a certain body all your life and t’aint easy to change. If you was to practice for a long time, maybe you could change it, but if’n you just up and tries to change, all you’ll make is a mess. Them Nac Belaskans, now they’s real shape-shifters. Can be a rock or a tree or anyone they wants to be, but they’s old - old as the hills and maybe older. Take you years and maybe hundreds of them to learn all the tricks. So you’d probably best take care of the body you made for yourself ‘cause that’s the best one for you.

I see, said Jerry. He remembered the teacher saying people were mostly water, water was just hydrogen and oxygen and the atoms themselves were mostly space so there wasn’t much to him even before he died and there was probably a lot less now. He looked scared.

Now sees what I’se done and got you all worried like. Don’t you go lettin’ an ol’ bag lady upset you lad. You seems bright enough to me, and they’s more’n friendly than not. Just don’t go thinkin’ once you’se dead nothin’ more can happen ‘cause it can. Now I best be getting’ on.

She gathered herself and her bundles up. Sometimes they’s leave a little somethin’ out for an ol’ bag lady behind the fancy restaurant up on Dover street. Not always you know, but sometimes. An’ if they has, why’d be a right shame not to have a good dinner when I can.

And with that she pushed her cart away down the path. Remember, she called back, a transitioner is what you wants to find. An’ if you’se gets caught up in somethin’, well, you’se gets caught up in it, but it ain’t really any of your business, so’s don’t really matter if you help out or not. Your business is in t’other place.

Then she was gone, obscured by bushes and tree shadows and Jerry was on his own once again. He didn’t quite understand what she was saying, but he knew one thing. He needed to find a transitioner so he could get to whatever came next.

CHAPTER 2

About a mile north-east of where Jerry was sitting, there was an overpass enabling traffic to cross the ravine making up the park. Along the edge was concrete and metal fencing so cars, should they have an accident and veer from the road, would be stopped and not tumble thirty feet into the creek. It was practical and safe, but did take something away from the view. It was, however, particularly useful for the elf who stood motionless, a few feet from the path following the stream. He had been there for some time and was both patient and careful. Even if humans were able to see elves, they would not have seen Kai Nistoren. Tall, lean, hidden in a grey cloak and standing in the shadow of an old apple tree, he was close to invisible. Even the most discerning eye would have missed him. Carefully he surveyed the area looking for anything or anyone spying on him. Only after almost half-an-hour of surveillance did he move from shadow and approach a large rock surrounded by bushes and dried weeds. Touching the boulder in a specific place, he spoke a word to announce his presence. The boulder transformed into a small cloud of mist and Kai Nistoren, without taking a single step, melted into the earth.

Outside, the traffic overhead continued to pass and the stream continued the conversation it was having with itself. All else was still. But all of Kai’s precautions were not enough. From a twig on the apple tree, a dragonfly lifted in a blur of wings, quickly caught three passing mosquitoes for a light meal and flew upstream to where its master waited to probe the tiny mind and extract such information as was available as to the comings and goings of the elves.

Beneath the ground there was no need for caution and Kai was able to move freely. He exchanged greetings with a couple of individuals but did not stay to chat. He had information needing to be passed on, so continued to the palace. The palace was not what one might expect. It was merely a large room lit with shining globes of white light and decorated with ornate wall hangings. At one end was a large council table with a throne carved from oak. Beyond were the personal quarters of the king, and courtiers. Strictly speaking, none of it was to the elves taste. They much preferred forest glades and arboreal accommodations; but necessity had forced them underground. Mostly, but not always, their magic was sufficient to render them invisible to humans, but if they were detected they knew they would be hunted to extinction from either simple curiosity or a desire to master their magic. So they hid in the shadows and lived in the side of a hill. Some would complain they were no better than dwarves, but all recognized the necessity for caution.

Court was in session as Kai entered. He nodded and sat down waiting for his turn. When it came he spoke with no preamble, Rayathgar Spinollen and Brin Tannowey have been captured and enslaved by Terrob Salermy. We know this for a fact because we were able to bypass his outer wards sufficiently to feel their presence and we know they are still alive. They are held at Roth-Ura, but we cannot tell what bindings have been put in place to hold them. Salermy has very powerful magic, and it won’t be easy rescuing them. It is also not known why he wanted elves when there are plenty of goblins easier to capture and just as nourishing.

Trall Spinnerhand commented, He may want to stay on good terms with the goblins so as to make use of them in some confrontation.

He could do that anyway, replied Kai. Goblins are largely indifferent to the fates of individuals and would not refuse a commission to fight provided there were rewards to be had.

For a moment silence fell over the chamber and then King Talador Rivenclas spoke. Has your reconnaissance provided you with any idea as to how we might effect a rescue?

We know little about Terrob Salermy except he’s a Nac Belaskan and a very powerful sorcerer. His outer wards were not particularly strong, but his inner ones seem impregnable. He’s not taking any particular care to hide what he is, or the identity of his slaves. Any magical attack is doomed to failure as are the more obvious physical attacks, but there is one possibility. In the First-world, Roth-Ura maintains an appearance similar to any other human habitation. Therefore, like any house, it will have a pipe running to the sewer. If something small enough were to navigate it, it would have access to the domicile behind the wards. Then it would be a simple matter to cancel them and open the door to a band of elves.

And the pipe is not warded? asked a councillor.

It doesn’t seem to be, replied Kai, We didn’t dare probe it too extensively because if this works it can only be used once.

And there are no physical impediments? asked another councillor.

There probably are, although we didn’t detect any. However they would be much easier to bypass than magical ones.

The king spoke. Have you thought of anyone capable of traversing this pipe?

I thought perhaps a fairy might, replied Kai.

There was general laughter among the councillors.

The fairies, said the king quietly, cannot abide being submersed in water.

But a water nymph could create an air pocket to transport the fairy and keep it dry, replied Kai.

That’s true, put in one of the councillors, But the sewers are messy and unpleasant. Neither nymph nor fairy would go there willingly.

"We may be able to find a reward suitable for both nymph and fairy; but if we can’t