Wheels (16 page)

“Right, I’m sure it looks exactly like your old comb.”

“No, I’d say it looks something like this.” Pietas held her fingers up in the shape of a triangle. “Though larger, of course. You would know it if you saw it. It is made from the same material as the cover of the Circolar.”

“I just had a thought!” McKenzie sat up straighter. “We could use your friend’s cortext to get home.”

“That would be convenient…had not Petré’s cortext disappeared.”

“But Principal Provost traveled to our planet.”

“Bewfordios built his own cortext. As a student of Revolvos, he was just as brilliant, if not more so. Unfortunately…” Pietas hesitated. “A very good, though highly unreliable friend of mine, by the name of Cordis, borrowed that cortext shortly after Bewfordios left for Earth. We believe he brought it with him to the Isle of Iciis. No one has heard from him since.” 

 “Then that’s where we’ll go.” McKenzie yawned. She was beginning to feel grumpy, if not a bit frustrated.

Hayes followed suit, yawning loudly on the other side of the room. “Can we PLEASE get some sleep first?”

“The journey to Iciis is long and treacherous. Not for the very young, like you, nor for the very old, like me. We cannot even be sure Cordis made it there alive. Your help is needed here, McKenzie, not on Iciis.”

McKenzie slid down and pulled the covers over her head.
Help?
She thought of the bulging eyed creature she’d seen in the portal. Even with Hayes’ help, what could she hope to do against such creatures? Circanthians controlled particles, changed things at will—if they couldn’t stop H.G. Wells and the Tsendi, how could she?

After what felt like an eternally long, awkward silence, Pietas took the hint (as in, McKenzie had fallen asleep…although she hadn’t) and returned to the back of the cave. Shortly thereafter, she began to snore.

Tomorrow, thought McKenzie, she would ask Pietas about her dream…even if it meant disappointing her. Pietas would find out soon enough, McKenzie was not a savior.

Chapter 19

FBI TRANSCRIPT 21204

Agent Wink Krumm and H.G. Wells
Monday, May 11th

WELLS
: Bother Krumm! I’m under the weather.

KRUMM
: I’m sorry about that.

WELLS
: Fouls up your schedule, doesn’t it? I’m tired of these interrogations…feeling older than I have in centuries. I need a nap.

KRUMM
: Tell me about one Circanthian. Your pick.

WELLS
: Never give up, do you? Fair enough, I’ll tell you about Soliis. S-O-L-I-I-S, I believe. The written language is rarely used on Circanthos. Long lives, long memories and what they don’t remember, they’re happy to forget.

KRUMM
: About this Circanthian—

WELLS
: Soliis was a trogsitter.

KRUMM
: A what?

WELLS
: A weasel. Sold his soul for a bit of cobaca froot. He was by far my favorite Circanthian. Almost Tsendi, except for that blasted sphere. Strangest thing I’ve ever seen. Never got used to it.

KRUMM
: If I understood you correctly…
Solii
s, a Circanthian, was spying for you?

WELLS
: Yes. Now, may I take my nap?

***

SOLIIS

Tuesday, March 17th
Circanthos – Vibrona coast by the Lapis Sea

S
oliis blinked and stifled another yawn. His stomach moaned, squeezing inwardly as if having given up all hope of any outside nourishment. He’d been hiding behind a rock like a tri-sphered
lapiserain trogsitter
since yesterday—the day Pietas returned. To top it off, he was shivering. Cera san’s pale warmth was fine for the Tsendi, but not for him. Not for a Circanthian whose ability to particle-weave was almost gone.

He rolled out from behind the rock, hugging himself, and peered into the distance. It had never occurred to Soliis just how much his people depended upon particle-weaving. Since his return to the Gathering, he’d hidden in the back of his dwelling during rest periods, covered with anything and everything he could find to keep warm. Anything to conceal the fact that he could no longer adjust his own body temperature.

Thank, Concentric. Circanthians may be bull-headed, but at least they respect each other’s privacy.
He shuddered. Living with the Tsendi had been dreadful. They were disgusting smelly creatures, always hugging and touching each other. His nose wrinkled. “Tsootbas! I’ve even begun to smell like one. If it wasn’t for cobaca froot—”

WHERE in Concentric is that Tsendi runner!

The Advitor was right. Circanthians had depended upon particle-weaving tricks for too long. It had made them weak.

The first signs of Locent san had begun to shine in the distance. Soliis knew that if the Tsendi runner did not arrive soon, she’d find cover and he’d be forced to wait another day.

“I c-c-c-can’t t-t-t-t-take it!” he screamed, shivering from head to sphere. He raised a hand to wipe away a trickle of spit, and then reached farther up to shield his tired, bloodshot eyes.

A red dot hovered in the distance. “Is that a
flickvik
? Concentric, help me—its belly is full!” Panic seized him and he began to breathe faster. “It can’t be a flickvik. It can’t! Great Creator, what if that stupid runner is dead! How will I ever get my beloved cobaca froot?”

Soliis felt his roticolar shrink another degree. Stay calm, he thought, the flickvik was probably circling a rotting vortmog corpse. The runner had probably already altered course and would be coming from the direction of the
Gemmeos mons
, safe enough cover should Locent san catch up with her.

If she doesn’t arrive soon—Oh, try to think of something else. Anything! The Lapis Sea, the Gathering, Pietas—

“Tsootbas! Why did I think of her?”

The rest of the Gathering had likely informed Pietas of his return.
Proud, weak, ignorant fools.
Pietas would complicate things. Mallos had told him Pietas was dead. Never trust a Tsendi to tell the truth.

“WHERE IS THAT BLASTED RUNNER!” he shouted. “I’m too old. I’ll die, I’ll-I’ll…” I’ll convince Wells to let me live in the forest. I’m smarter than those stupid Tsendi. Every last one of them—especially Abacis.”

Soliis shielded his eyes and scanned the horizon.

“Blast Abacis! There’s something particularly un-Tsendi-like about him.”

A speck appeared in the distance. Not in the sky this time, but on the ground. Soliis squinted; the speck was coming towards him.

“Oh my lovely, lovely cobaca froot. The runner is here!”

The runner was indeed coming from the direction of the mons. If he could have, Soliis would have rolled out to meet her but his roticolar was too flat, so he waited. Furthermore, Tsendi runners were incredibly fast when they chose to be, and this one was running on all four limbs to beat Locent san.

The runner limped up to Soliis, out of breath, translucent fur plastered in wet curls against her pink sinewy body. The tunic Wells made all the Tsendi wear must have been especially uncomfortable while running under the warmth of Circanthos’ sans. “I have message,” she spit out, standing up on two limbs. Pulling a flask from beneath her tunic, she took a drink.

Soliis waited patiently, as if he didn’t care—as if he wasn’t dizzy and dying from lack of cobaca froot. If the runner sensed he was weak, she would take it all.

The runner finally withdrew a small sobolis skin pouch from beneath her tunic. In agonizingly slow motion, she began to hand it to Soliis, but at the last moment pulled it back. Plucking a piece of cobaca froot from the pouch and putting it into her mouth, she smiled, and then shoved the rest of the pouch into Soliis’ outstretched hand. “I have message from Advitor,” she said.

“Go on.” Soliis clutched the pouch in his hand, dying to open it.

“You,” She stopped to catch her breath. “To remain at Gathering. To bring hoomans and…” Pausing again, she scrunched her Tsendi eyes as if having a difficult time remembering the rest of her message. “Gate,” she spit at him. “Hoomans and Gate here.” The runner drew a partial map of Circanthos in the sand and pointed to a spot well known to Soliis: Aramedios, once neutral trading territory before the
Veni Commotos
, the conflict which first separated the Circanthians and the Tsendi. It was near to the last inlet before the Boreis Peaks. “Be there. Must hurry. Less than one epok, when Locent san is rounding Aramedios. Only you, hoomans and Gate.”

The runner leaned forward, startling Soliis by placing her leering, smelly Tsendi mouth directly in front of his. Grabbing the sobolis skin pouch out of his hand before he could stop her, she said, “For me,” and withdrew a handful of dried cobaca froot.

Soliis moaned, too weak to do anything.

“Mallos send word. Make sure Pietas not know of you and Tsendi. If Pietas find out—NO more cobaca froot.”

Soliis moaned again, no longer caring what the Tsendi thought. Finally, the runner shoved the bag back into Soliis’ outstretched hand and took off in the direction of the mons.

Soliis turned away and greedily dug into his pouch. Disappointment overwhelmed him when he saw the pouch was barely half full, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. He was so desperate, the first few bites of cobaca froot disappeared down his throat faster than sleet from a
brinpig
. A few more bites and he was able to regain some composure; indeed, he felt almost like his old self again.

Now…what was it the runner had said? Hoomans, what hoomans? Oh!
He remembered. There’d been two humans with Pietas.
Concentric, help me—I’d hardly noticed.

Soliis searched his frazzled old mind trying to remember what else the Tsendi had said.
Aramedios, two humans and a Gate?
He knew what The Gate was, for the Advitor had shown him. The humans must have their own Gate. Would it look the same? Soliis glanced at the sky;
Azalin
red streaks were already sweeping away the last pale blush of Cera san.
When Locent rounds Aramedios. I have little time! Must pull myself together. Concentric, help me, I only hope Pietas is feeling as old and as frail as I am.

Chapter 20

Car Dreams

McKenzie’s feet swung back and forth kicking the seat in front of her. She leaned forward to touch one of the red curls sticking between the headrest and the top of the driver’s seat. An action that felt…familiar.

“Mommy?”

Back and forth, kick-kick against the black leather seat—the black leather seat of their old red 4x4. McKenzie’s mother was in front of her. Her mother was—alive!

McKenzie leaned forward to get a glimpse of her mother’s face in the rearview mirror, but saw nothing. Suddenly, a dark slash appeared before her; a tear in the fabric of the universe. Its black, frayed edges peeling apart, leaving a gaping hole where her mother’s head had been.

“Mommy!”

“I’m here, McKenzie. Always here.”

McKenzie looked out the window searching for the sun, but found only tiny points of light. One by one, they too disappeared until there was only darkness.

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the sun comforting her, enfolding her and soon—much sooner than she expected—she began to feel warm. TOO WARM! Her eyes opened to searing, white-hot light blinding her from every direction. The air was hot, stifling. McKenzie could hardly breathe. She leaned over to open the window, but couldn’t reach the button. Her arms and legs were small, too small…child-like.

“I can’t, I can’t—breathe! Open the window!”

“It’s broken, honey. Be patient.”

McKenzie had imagined the sun. Somehow, she knew she’d wished it into being. The light continued to grow brighter and hotter.

“I’m-too-hot!” So now, she needed to imagine a way out. An opening!

“McKenzie, what are you doing?”

Only it wasn’t where she thought it would be.

“McKenzie, PLEASE. Oh God! PLEASE, my door!”

“Mommy—get out!”

“Oh God, my arm. My arm, McKenzie, MY ARM!”

***

NIGHTMARES

Tuesday, March 17th
Circanthos

M
cKenzie dropped forward, pockets of salty tears trapped between her face and hands, and remained that way until the dream began to fade.

“You’re awake.”

She dried her face with the bottom of her t-shirt and studied the creature beside her. Her eyes traveled down to the creature’s legs.
Geezits!
And everything came flooding back. She’d been dreaming again. “Pietas?”

“Yes dear.”

McKenzie looked across the room. “Where’s Hayes?”

“Assisting one of the old cirs in the garden.”

“What’s an old…? Never mind.”

“Please…tell me what is wrong,” said Pietas.

McKenzie stared at her hands, still moist with tears. “I had a bad dream,” she whispered. Pietas remained silent. McKenzie continued to stare at her hands, but from the corner of her eye she noticed Pietas turning her head to look in the direction of the entrance, her forehead furrowed in wrinkles.

“I must talk to you about something.”

“I need to talk to you too,” said McKenzie.

“All right. However, I must speak with you before Just Hayes returns.”

“His name is Hayes.” McKenzie swung herself off the cot and into her chair. “Not, Just Hayes.”

Pietas smiled. “I know.”

Sconces on either side of the room burst into flame, while the cot, the pillows and the blankets—all disappeared. McKenzie reached out and felt the smooth, already cooled wall beneath her fingertips. What had she expected? A sign the molecules had been manipulated? If only she had as much control over her own ability. “You go first,” she murmured.