Wheels (24 page)

“Hayes is not here. You were lost.”

“Lost—where?”

“On the other side, or…somewhere in between.”

“But Joanne and…?”

“Yes?” 

“I don’t know. I feel so…what time is it?”

“It’s early.” Pietas yawned. “Much too early.”

McKenzie stretched, scrunching her eyes and angling her head to get a better look outside. The sky was a foamy cappuccino full of billowy, brown swirls. “What happened to the sans?”

“The Sans remain,” said Pietas. “We’re simply as far from one as we are from the other. It is always like this before the turning. Soon it will be Locent san and everyone will be awake. We should be on our way.”

“Right. I have to save Hayes.” McKenzie swung out of bed and onto her chair, “Is Soliis awake?”

“I had him moved to a safe location. We feared he might attempt a return to the forest.”

“Let him go. Soliis is the only one who can lead me to Hayes.” McKenzie glanced at Pietas. “Unless you know the way.”

“We will discuss plans for Hayes’ rescue, but first you must accompany me. There is food on the table, choose what you like—no, I take that back—green is good, brown is, well…trust me, stick with green. I’ll wait for you outside.”

McKenzie opened her mouth to protest, but was interrupted by a loud rumbling noise coming from the direction of her stomach. “Alright,” she said, noticing a bright green stain prominently displayed on the bottom of her favorite red and black jersey.

Pietas was already halfway out the door, “Give your face a splash, then change into the tunic I’ve set out for you. We have nothing to accommodate your bottom half. I could particle-weave something, though as it would not be permanent—”

“A shirt is fine.”

“Good! I’ll meet you out front then. And remember, no dilly-dallying.”

McKenzie found the soft, suede-like tunic Pietas had left for her. Though it was too large, it was clean. As there was no one to impress, she pulled it over her head—
creech, creech, creech
—and the tunic immediately began shrink-wrapping itself around her body. McKenzie stretched and pulled, attempting to make herself wider, and after a few panic-filled moments noticed that if she held a position long enough, the material stopped shrinking. A bit more stretching and pulling and the tunic hung reasonably well.

She was about to return to the kitchen when her reflection, cast in the silvery, mirror-like substance painted above the sink, caused her to pause. McKenzie gazed at the mess of springy, red curls, the face so pale, and eyes even more emerald green than usual, as if amazed to see herself.

She stared at the eyes reflected on the silvery surface. There was something about their color today. Leaning closer, McKenzie peered into the alien mirror, and like a ghostly shimmer, saw her mother staring back at her.

The ache in McKenzie’s stomach grew larger than hunger, larger than anything. She reached out to wipe a tear from her mother’s cheek, which sent silver ripples dancing across the surface, carrying her mother away.

She rolled out of the bathroom, quickly grabbed what looked like a loaf of lime-green bread bursting with juicy blueberries, and hurried out of the cave.

“Ah,
panis proniis
, my favorite.” Pietas produced one of her broad, brilliant smiles, then turned and took off without a backwards glance.

McKenzie followed, silent and brooding. A bad dream usually signaled the start of an even worse day. She gazed at the sky, which was dark by Circanthos standards, yet barely twilight by Earth’s. A bad day would last a very long time on this planet.

Pietas stopped to drink from a lopsided fountain in the middle of the Gathering, “Remind me to tell Master Korte that her fountain is returning to a stump,” then led McKenzie away from the Gathering, through a series of narrow dirt paths snaking around back and behind the mountain.

Locent san had begun to show, a touch of red-gold on the horizon, not in front of McKenzie, but beside her. While Earth’s sun rose in the east and set in the west, Circanthos’ two sans, Locent and Cera, seemed to glide into view filling the entire sky. No wonder Circanthos had so many earthquakes, pulled between two giant suns.

Before Locent san’s blinding rays made looking up impossible, she stopped to gaze once more at the sky. At its darkest point, it was still too bright to see any stars. Yet out there, somewhere, was her home: a bright shining solar system where Earth, her dad and Grandma Mir were waiting for her.

“McKenzie!”

The path ended at a field filled with tall, purple grasses towering well above her head. Pietas plowed ahead. McKenzie took a breath and dove in.

The tall, willowy, thin leaves lay down at the touch of her wheels and immediately popped up again. Wonderful—if you were first. But after two, three—four times of being slapped in the face from leaves popping up behind Pietas, McKenzie slowed down, and thereafter found her way by listening for the sound of Pietas’ voice as she continually called out for McKenzie to quit “dilly-dallying.”

Minutes later, they entered a clearing; a smooth rectangular base of amber colored rock on the edge of a swift-flowing stream whose destination was camouflaged by a single tree. It was larger than any tree McKenzie had ever seen. Its elephantine trunk, one great gray gnarled knot, took up half the stream while a profusion of twig-like branches covered with rust-colored needles swooped and drooped (as though undecided which way to grow) extending all the way to the other side.

Lining the other three sides of the clearing were more trees, each unique to the next. What’s more, between every third tree was a rock, approximately four feet tall, rectangular and gray—except for one rock, which looked like a mix between a large lump of moldy Swiss cheese and a…well, she wasn’t sure. “What’s that?” said McKenzie pointing to it.

“Oh my…” Pietas studied the lump. “I believe that is a flickvik trap in the process of returning to its original form.” She took a bite of bread. “Which, from the look of it, was a loaf of panis proniis. One of our young ones must have been practicing.”

McKenzie gulped, forcing the recently chewed piece of panis proniis back down her throat.

 “Not to worry, flickviks are only interested in the dead.” Pietas glanced upwards. “Though, they can be a terrible nuisance if they sense death is near.”

“What do they look…?” McKenzie suddenly recalled the horrible, blood-sucking insect that had hovered above her head only a short time ago. “Never mind.”

“You’re right, of course,” Pietas continued, thoroughly enjoying the last bite of her own panis proniis. “It wasn’t a very good idea. I suppose the young one was trying to show off.” She smiled, as if remembering something pleasant.

“After every other loon,” continued Pietas, “we hold a festival to celebrate the harvest. The loons wreak havoc, but most of our plants would not ripen without them. The young ones use these celebrations as an excuse to hold competitions such as weavings and races.”

Races?
“What type of races?”

Locent san had begun to ease around the cliffs and Pietas seemed suddenly distracted. “We should begin.”

“But—”

“Now.”

“Fine.” McKenzie lifted her chin, determined to be on her way as soon as possible. “Why are we here? Is Soliis coming?”

“Soliis will not be joining us, although, it is because of him I brought you here.” Pietas paused, her cheeks growing noticeably pink. “Soliis warned me about you.” 

“About me? Me? He warned you about ME? Soliis is a—”

“You must learn to control your temper. Particle-weaving is an ability that cannot be used lightly.” Pietas’ gaze was unflinching and stern. “Soliis informed me about the fist.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Exactly! You must always
weave
what you mean and mean what you
weave
.” She rose on her sphere, towering above McKenzie. “No matter how justified your reasons, particle-weaving during any extreme emotional state is dangerous. The fist you created, had it come down on Wells as you so carelessly envisioned, would not only have crushed him, but also Soliis, Hayes, you and half the Tsendi.

McKenzie’s face burned.

“Of course…” Pietas shrugged her shoulders, and sounding suspiciously less stern, she continued, “had that happened—had you crushed everyone, including yourself—you would not have had to worry about rescuing Hayes, would you?”

“It wasn’t that big.”

“If it were only half the size Soliis described, you would all have been dead.”

McKenzie watched lapis blue water trickle steadily down the cliff, its path clear—into the stream, out to the sea. “You don’t have to worry,” she said turning to Pietas, “I won’t ever particle-weave again. I wish I’d never been born like this.”

“Be careful what you wish for.”

“What?”

“Be careful—

“What I wish for!” McKenzie turned. “I heard you. Why would you say that? You know—you must know!” McKenzie began backing away. “I’m going to talk to Soliis and find Hayes. We’re going home.”

Instead of stopping her, Pietas closed her eyes and began taking slow, deep breaths.

McKenzie headed toward the first opening she could find, only to be stopped short of bumping into what was suddenly a mass of greens and browns, burnished reds, oranges and grays—all the colors of all the trees and rocks woven into a wall. She turned, intending to race to the other side, but it was too late. McKenzie was surrounded—even the water had risen up against her.

“It seems Hayes isn’t the only prisoner.”

Pietas sighed. “However much you wish not to particle-weave, the truth is, you will. Someday, whether you wish it or not, you will particle-weave and you will hurt someone. Perhaps even someone you love.”

McKenzie could hear her heart, a thousand times larger now, beating against her chest, begging her to please, please let it go free.

Then in a softer, gentler tone Pietas said, “And I know you do not wish to hurt anyone.”

The first tear came, and then another. Her heart had won. And it was only a matter of time, with each tear, a crack here, a crack there, soon all her tears would pour forth, exposing her crime, leaving her empty, finally, for all the world to see…she was not a savior. Murderers did not save.

“Home,” whispered McKenzie, in one last desperate attempt, “Home, home…” while the ground in front of her began to blur. Precisely, clearly, McKenzie envisioned each detail of her living room. The blurring increased, shifting—
HOME, take me home
—then stopped, molecules frozen in mid-shift, a painful blur pulled in two directions. Energy being torn apart, threatening to explode. McKenzie tried to hold on, but whatever—whoever—was pulling the molecules in the opposite direction was the stronger. The image of her living room disappeared and the molecules shifted into flat, amber-colored stone.

“I’m not entirely sure humans are capable of controlling their emotions,” said Pietas, as if she too were having a difficult time. “However, you appear to be surprisingly capable of particle-weaving; therefore, it is my intention to train you to better recognize and use this ability. Acceptance, whether you like it or not, is the first step toward controlling it.”

McKenzie turned just enough to see Pietas’ face. “I never meant to—I mean—I don’t want to hurt anyone and that’s why I’m not going to particle-weave. It’s not normal for humans.”

“I see,” said Pietas.

“No, you don’t!” The tears were coming faster now. “You can’t possibly see!”

“Normal is like those particles I stopped you from weaving and forced back into their ‘normal’ state,” said Pietas. “But humans, like Circanthians, are not merely particles and therefore not confined by only one definition of normal. Normal, in our case, is a quality as elusive as happiness. The moment we think we are normal, we no longer desire to be it.”

“That’s not what I—”

“And you cannot be happy,” Pietas continued, “if you do not choose to accept that which is uniquely you. Therefore ‘normal’ does not equate with happiness so, why would you wish it?”

McKenzie closed her eyes, forcing her tears back, if only for a moment, determined to shut out Pietas’ philosophical ramblings.

“What is it?”

Her heart felt as if it were pounding from both sides of her chest now. As if it had grown so large it threatened to crack her ribs and crush her lungs. Happiness? Did someone like her deserve happiness? And that’s when the pounding changed into a word. One word, over and over. Murder. Murder.
Murderer.

“McKenzie, dear me, you don’t look well.”

“No.”

“Let me take you back.”

“NO!” McKenzie stared at her hands, fingers spread, pushing against the tops of her thighs, pushing against flesh that hadn’t felt anything since she was five-years-old. “Pietas,” she whispered. “Have you ever done something…something horrible?”

Silence.

Something buzzed above McKenzie’s head then flew away. The tears pushed against her eyelids. Any moment. Any moment now, they would burst free again.

Finally, Pietas spoke. “Young ones often make mistakes. It is their nature. It takes loonocks to master one’s particle-weaving abilities and that is only with regular instruction. Whatever happened with Wells and the Tsendi is understandable—you’ve had no one to instruct you.”

“Not Wells—” The words stuck in McKenzie’s throat, choking her. She tried to swallow, but it only made it worse. She turned to Pietas, pleading, suffocating, “Help me!” And the tears broke free. “When I was five-years-old—” Another gulp and with every breath remaining she forced the words out loud and clear so she would never, ever have to say them again. “When I was five-years-old—I killed my mother.”

Silence.

A sharp intake of breath.

“No,” whispered Pietas. “No. Not you—it can’t be!”

More tears came, but McKenzie ignored them. Her nose ran, and she ignored that too. She sat and she stared, and she prayed that Pietas would leave her to die. Maybe Pietas would kill her. She didn’t deserve happiness. She deserved nothing better than to be invisible. To be ignored. To be alone.