John Smith, World Jumper Book One: Portal to Adventure

I awoke to the sensation of movement, mostly smooth with an occasional bump. I was wrapped, rather snugly, in what proved to be the fur lined pelts of some large animal. The platform on which I rode was slanted and I became gradually aware of a plodding regularity which must have been the footsteps of the beast which dragged me.

  Warm and secure, with the sensation of monotonous movement underneath me, I was tired enough yet to drift off into that hazy state of pre-sleep when I felt something cold snake beneath the furs covering my face and quickly pull them off. The frigid air startled me, but as I opened my eyes the sight of a furry trunk, nostrils blowing warm air on my face as it descended, startled me more.

  With the realization that I was restrained more tightly than I had thought, and was unable to raise my arms to ward off the enormous proboscis, I lay helplessly while it snuffled over my face. Not normally squeamish, I was nonetheless unable to contain a quite unmanly groan of protest.

  Presently the trunk, or more accurately its owner, lost interest in me and as it left my face alone I was able to see more clearly. The trunk lifted and wrapped itself around a small tail which was attached to the beast that pulled me. I realized that my earlier vision of pachyderms had not been a mirage, and that these must be somehow tame. My thought that no theory had ever been advanced concerning the domestication of mammoths was set aside temporarily at least in the face of this quite empirical evidence. I do not know which disturbed me more, the idea of living mammoths, or the idea of tamed mammoths.

  The fact that I was no longer in France, or at least not in the France that I had so briefly known, seemed less important to me than learning of where I was currently. Any speculation I began to entertain with my limited knowledge was cut short by a commanding, yet gentle female voice above me. The words were not immediately familiar, but the meaning became clear as my conveyance slowed to a stop. I heard an impact in the snow, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching to one side. Just as I prepared to get a glimpse of my rescuer or captor, of whom I was not certain, the following mammoth became interested in me again, probing again with its trunk. I turned my head in a vain attempt at keeping the thing away from my mouth and nose, sputtering in protest.

  Feminine laughter followed, and if I am not mistaken, the beast was allowed to explore my face for a few seconds more before the laughter changed to a clear, “Tut, Tut,” and a mittened hand pulled the trunk from my face. If I was expecting a clear view of whomever it was that stood above me, it was not to be. The cold was apparently a force to be reckoned with, and all I was able to see was a thick leather parka with a fur-lined hood. Narrow slit type eye protection, made from wood or bone covered her eyes and a cloth of some type concealed the rest of her face.

  With deft quickness, I was re-wrapped and without delay, we started moving again. The fatigue which had not fully left me returned and I drifted back to sleep again, lulled by the gentle motion of the beasts as they plodded along. How long I slept, I cannot be certain, but when I awoke to a cold breeze on my face it was night. It was moonless and the overcast had cleared, leaving stars brilliantly shining as they do only in the wilderness or the middle of the ocean, far from the light of civilization. I was no longer moving.

  The dark shape of the mammoth that had been towing me was still visible above my head, but of the curious one who disturbed my coverings, there was no sign. Neither was there any sign of my rescuer, as I hopefully decided to think of the one who rode the mammoth and seemed to at the least hold no malice towards me.

  Feeling more energetic than I had been, and with nothing else to do, I began to work myself free of the furs covering me. Several straps secured me and my fur coverings, to the platform. Wiggling my arms out first, I was able to untie the closest one when things suddenly became more urgent.

  The first indication I had that something had become amiss was agitation in the mammoth standing over me. I heard it inhale deeply as it sniffed the air, shuffling its feet anxiously. Redoubling my efforts, I freed the second strap and was able to sit up far enough to loosen the third.

  I took a second to look around. Luckily my eyes had adjusted as well as could be expected to the darkness, and I saw several large four legged shapes moving through the darkness. With my legs free I stood, thankful that I still wore my fatigues and boots. However, other than the small knife I wore at my belt, my other equipment including my pack, rifle and other accoutrements was missing. They might have been inches away, but in the darkness I had no hope of finding them by sight.

  Thinking rapidly, attempting to formulate some sort of strategy, I felt around the lower end of the fur lined platform which extended several feet further towards the ground. I was heartened to feel the frame outline of my backpack, but of my rifle or ammunition pouch there were no sign.

  Much closer than I had expected, I heard a low growl, very canine, yet also distinctly from a large animal. Even as the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and not because of the cold, the mammoth decided it was done with waiting and began walking rapidly away. I followed the beast thinking being near such a large animal was preferable to facing unknown attackers alone. At the same time I wondered where the woman rider and other mammoth were.

  My predicament seemed truly dire. I am not one to panic, but as other growls became audible in the darkness, interspersed with occasional perplexingly deep and voluminous barks, I must admit to coming close to doing so. Facing a known opponent when armed is one thing, facing an altogether different and unknown threat, when unarmed in the dark, is something else entirely.

  What happened next both startled and puzzled me, although I could not tell you which one I experienced first. Over the growling beasts and trumpets of the mammoth came the sharp crack of a rifle. A bolt cycled rapidly, and the rifle cracked again before echoing into silence, muffled by the snow.

  Other than the abrupt change to icebound winter and the disconcerting presence of the mammoths, I had no real perspective of how different a place I was truly in, so hearing the rifle shot was not as out of place to me as it should have been given what I saw of this world over the next several days. Hours before I had been in a reality where the sounds of gunfire and other explosions if not commonplace, were at least practically a part of daily life. Nonetheless, some dim part of my awareness realized even then that the sound of rifle discharge was non-sequitur.

  Even as footfalls approached through the snow, the large canine creatures retreated. I hesitate to call them wolves because of their sheer size, but that name fits as well as any. Besides, I thought, the dim starlight might be up to its usual tricks with ones imagination.

  My weakness of night vision was apparently not shared by my unknown savior. I had always thought myself as adequately equipped as any to see things in dim light, but as the fur clad figure appeared and stood before me, looking me over I felt slightly outclassed. If our positions had been reversed, I would have been forced to take a much more physical approach to examining my rescuee.

  The one thing even my eyes could not miss was the large, lumbering shape of another mammoth. It followed behind the fur clad figure, non unlike a two-ton puppy. I chuckled at the thought, but was brought up short by the cold metal of my Springfield, or as my squad leader had called it, “United States Rifle, Caliber .30, Model 1903,” being pushed against my chest at a slight angle from straight up and down. I grabbed it instinctively, and just as instinctively checked the action.

  Even as I cycled the bolt, the figure brought up a fur clad arm and pointed towards the departing wolves. “Watch for them,” came the simple instruction, and with it the realization that I was dealing with the same woman who had been escorting me thus far.

  That I understood her words should have startled me, but for some reason it did not. What did raise a hint of curiosity in my mind several seconds later was that both her instruction and my response, “I will,” were uttered in what upon reflection proved to be a dialect of the Greek language.


  It actually surprised me more that I had understood and responded to her words well before I consciously realized what language she spoke. As she moved to sooth the larger mammoth, which slowed then stopped, I scanned as best I could, the darkness around us. Keeping my focus loose and moving, I fought the urge to attempt focusing on every dark shadow I thought I saw. Instead I concentrated on looking for movement.

  Before many seconds had passed I quite realized why my companion was bundled up as she was. It was bone chillingly cold. My initial excitement and action had dampened my awareness somewhat, but when the thin layer of warmth that had surrounded me underneath my bed of furs was blown away by the first gust of wind, I became painfully aware of how unprotected I was from the weather.

  It seemed even colder now than it had been upon my initial arrival onto the snow covered ground. Without hesitating, I walked to the travois and, setting my Springfield down, wrapped a fur around my shoulders. Thinking that would be sufficient to warm me, I reached down to pick up the rifle. The numb stiffness in my fingers as they clumsily closed on the wooden stock alarmed me somewhat.

  I was in no condition to even cycle the bolt, much less shoot my rifle. Noticing my predicament, and having calmed down the mammoths, my fur covered companion returned to my side. “Day comes. We should be safe enough for now. Get back underneath until it warms. I do not have spare clothes.”

  Fumbling the rifle with me onto the travois, I adjusted the furs as best as I could. My coverage was apparently not good enough. With the same dexterous motion I had experienced earlier, I was bundled into the furs. This time however, I was not only propped up slightly, but also allowed enough freedom of movement to wield my rifle as effectively as possible from the back of a contrivance being dragged behind a mammoth. I hoped that I would not be called upon to do so.

  Not knowing how much longer I was to travel in anonymity I risked a first question of my fur-clothed companion. “What is your name?” I said loudly enough to be heard above the muffling I felt her furs must provide. If my voice was hoarse from the cold air and lack of speech, she gave no sign as, turning back towards me, she briefly unwrapped the furs from her face.

  I must have looked like I had seen a ghost or some other apparition, for she immediately pulled off one mitten and felt my forehead for signs of fever. The shock of seeing her face was so great that as she answered, her words could have added not one measure to my surprise. “My name is Layla. Why are you so upset? We are both of The People, and you could have been found by Others.”

  Of People and Others I had no concern. Standing before me, although wrapped for the weather with only a small part of her features revealed to me, was the spitting image of Lila, my nurse. As I dumbly sat, not even acknowledging her question, I realized that while this Layla was speaking in a different tongue than my nurse Lila, the timbre of their voices was the same, and her eyes exactly the same deep green hue.

  Perhaps I had not fully come to terms with the still new idea that I was somewhere completely different than where I had started. All I can say is that up until then, the possibilities of where I was had been somewhat more limited in my mind. At that instant, when I saw a person who could only be another version of someone from the world I had only recently departed, my concept of the universe changed.

  Unfortunately, as all too often seems to have become my lot in life, something happened which cut short a more thoughtful contemplation of my situation. Both mammoths raised their trunks and trumpeted in unison. Layla raised her head, looked around and then leapt to the side of the larger mammoth and climbed quickly onto the creature.

  I was about to ask her what was happening when she prodded the rump of her mount with a curved stick she must have pulled off of the low platform that served as some sort of saddle on the mammoth. As it lurched away at a higher rate of speed than I had heretofore experienced from my ride, Layla pointed behind us to the right side and shouted, in a warning tone , “Others!” before quickly re-wrapping her face and securing herself into the seat with a leather strap.

  Looking in the direction she had indicated, I strained for several seconds to see what she had pointed at, these Others, as she called them. When, several hundred yards behind us, they crested a slight ridge and became visible to me at last, I understood Layla’s haste. Even though I had done so minutes before, I checked the action on my Springfield and began searching for my ammo pouches.

  Chapter Three