Blue

by Lou Aronica

  Chris thought about telling Polly that Becky had initiated the conversation about Tamarisk. What would that accomplish, though, and what would he say if Polly asked him if he believed his daughter could actually go there? Becky seemed so convinced—she’d talked about last night’s trip to Tamarisk nonstop this morning—that he was beginning to become convinced himself, as outrageous as it seemed. If he admitted this to Polly, though, she’d throw an even bigger fit.

  He took a deep breath and simply said, “Thanks for the sage advice.”

  “I’m telling you, Chris, you’re making a big mistake here. You can be as much of a smart-ass with me as you’d like, but this new tactic of yours will definitely backfire. And if I see it affecting Becky adversely, I’ll respond as I see necessary.”

  Chris had to get off the phone. If he didn’t, he would start popping off again and he’d almost certainly say something he’d regret later—not because he didn’t mean it but because he absolutely meant it.

  “I need to go, Polly. I was in the middle of something.”

  He thumbed the phone off and placed it roughly on the counter. He felt the jittery rush of adrenaline that accompanied every argument he had with his ex-wife. He could always count on her turning something magical between Becky and him into something ugly.

  Really, though, what had Becky been thinking by mentioning this to Polly? Did this Tamarisk thing have her so completely caught up that she forgot herself? That didn’t seem possible. She knew what Tamarisk represented to her mother. How had she expected Polly to receive it? Had she done this deliberately for some reason? If so, what was she trying to gain?

  Chris thought about IMing Becky; she was probably still awake. The last thing he wanted to happen, however, was for Polly to walk into Becky’s room while he was doing this and recognize his screen name. Maybe they could talk about it on the phone tomorrow night. Until then, he’d just have to take a few deep breaths and try to get his mind on pleasant thoughts.

  This was something they’d have to deal with, though. If Becky was going to continue to “travel” to Tamarisk—whatever that meant to her—she would have to do it without her mother being aware of it. If Becky understood nothing else, he would make sure she understood that.

  12

  The last few days had been rough. Mom was giving her all kinds of strange looks though, thankfully, she hadn’t brought the subject up directly. Dad had interrogated her about saying anything to Mom about Tama-risk and Becky really couldn’t give him a good reason why she’d blurted it out. Meanwhile, Cam Parker was talking to her in single syllables and Lonnie was so infatuated with Dylan Spence—the latest flavor of the week—that she couldn’t talk about anything else.

  On top of it all, Becky had been having enormous headaches. She’d gotten one so bad while she was having dinner with Dad tonight that she’d thought she was going to throw up right at the table. She’d managed to make it through the meal, but she wound up canceling her plans with her friends for the night and going to bed early.

  She took some Tylenol and laid down. She’d never before had headaches like the ones she’d gotten this week. If they kept up, she was going to have to tell her mother and go to the doctor, which was not exactly something she wanted to do. Realistically, though, she couldn’t avoid the doctor forever. She had an annual checkup coming in a couple of months anyway. If there really was something wrong with her, everyone would find out then. The best she could do was hope to put it off for a little while. She was doing an okay job of dealing with the fear of the unknown. She wasn’t at all sure she could deal with the known, though.

  Lying down made the pounding intensify. She knew sleep would be the best thing for her, but she wasn’t sure she’d be able to relax enough to get to sleep. There was also the matter of Tamarisk. Should she try to go in this condition? Could she go in this condition? If she tried to meditate, would her head just pop off?

  She definitely didn’t want to wait until Tuesday night to go back. Maybe the meditation would even make her feel a little better. Didn’t people use meditation to treat headaches? Of course, when others meditated, they didn’t zoom off to another reality (at least she didn’t think so), but that was beside the point.

  Slowly, all too aware of the throbbing in her head, Becky began the process. She needed to fight past the pain or she would never be able to get to her destination. For a short while, though, that seemed impossible. She kept at it, and eventually she was able to darken the headache the way she darkened everything else.

  She opened her eyes in Miea’s office. Once again, Miea wasn’t there, and Becky stepped into the hallway to find Sorbus.

  “A pleasure to see you again,” the aide said.

  “Good to see you, too, Sorbus. I guess the queen isn’t around, huh?”

  Sorbus’s expression changed and he lowered his eyes. That seemed like a weird reaction. “She is going to be tied up for a long time today, I’m afraid. She’ll be unhappy to learn that she missed you.”

  Becky nodded. She’d really hoped she’d have the opportunity for another talk with Miea, but she couldn’t expect the queen to sit around waiting for her. Maybe that would be possible if Becky knew exactly when she was going to arrive, but she hadn’t come close to figuring out the time thing.

  “Her Majesty and I talked about what to do if you came when she wasn’t available and she had a suggestion that might interest you. Have you ever been on a waccasassa?”

  The question was like asking Becky if she’d ever been to Alpha Centauri, but Sorbus wouldn’t realize that. “No, I can’t say I have.”

  “I can make the queen’s available for you if you’d like to take a tour of the kingdom.”

  Becky’s eyes brightened. “You could?”

  “Her Majesty was very clear that you were to have complete access to all of her personal luxuries. After all, she rarely uses them herself.”

  Becky’s fingers actually tingled. “I’d love to ride on a waccasassa. They’re safe, right?”

  “Oh, they’re extremely safe. Please come outside with me.”

  They walked down the corridor and out to a large field. The colors and music of Tamarisk instantly impressed themselves upon Becky. Some of the sounds were different today—there was rhythmic banging that sounded something like a tympani, and the occasional appearance of something that sounded bowed—but the full effect was as symphonic as it had been the first time Becky stepped outdoors. A small biped creature with a flat face and a silky coat walked confidently up to her, reached out a paw to touch her leg, and then moved to a nearby rock to watch her. Becky grinned at it, but the creature’s expression remained unchanged.

  Becky noticed that her headache was completely gone. Obviously all she needed was a healthy dose of adventure to make it go away. I’m going to get to explore. I’m going to get to discover. There’s so much here for me. She stepped toward the biped, intending to pet it, and it ran off in the direction of the palace.

  She turned to Sorbus, who was saying something to another man. The man walked away, and maybe a minute later, Becky heard the air change with the flap-ping of enormous wings. Becky saw the shadow of the waccasassa before she saw the enormous bird itself. As big as it was, though, the waccasassa touched down on the ground incredibly lightly.

  The gull-like creature was so much bigger than Becky had imagined, easily thirty feet in length and ten feet high. It had silvery-green plumage across its wings, an aquamaroon head, and mahogany tufts in the center of its back. It stared straight ahead, its long, shimmering beak pointed directly at the horizon.

  “You can climb on whenever you like,” Sorbus said, raising a hand in the direction of the megagull.

  Becky regarded the bird. “Climb on? How? Where?” Becky realized the stories she’d created about waccasassa travel had left out quite a few details—like how you got on the things, for instance.

  Sorbus directed Becky to the front of the bird. When they got there, the waccasassa lowered its beak and
Becky noticed the numerous ridges that ran up its length. Sorbus gestured for Becky to use those ridges as a stairway. Grinning to herself, she walked up the beak and onto the bird’s expansive back, settling into its center tufts. She looked around for a seat belt or something to hold her in before remembering that she’d designed the tufts to be sturdy enough to keep a person in one place.

  “Do I need a helmet?” she said, calling down to Sorbus.

  “A helmet? For what?”

  In Connecticut, Becky wasn’t allowed to get on Rollerblades without a helmet, but obviously in Tama-risk it was perfectly okay to fly on massive birds without them. “What about air pressure?”

  “What about air pressure?”

  Becky shook her head. “Nothing, never mind. Hey, if I’m going on a tour, do I get a tour guide?”

  Sorbus turned his palms upward. “I would truly love to take you myself, but I’m afraid I can’t today. Her Majesty might need me and we’re a little short-staffed.”

  “How will I know where to go?”

  “The waccasassa knows your itinerary. I think you’ll enjoy the trip.”

  Becky laughed. “Okay, I guess I’ll just wing it.” She put a hand up to her face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that terrible pun.”

  Becky settled back. She was about to ask Sorbus how to make the waccasassa go when she felt herself moving forward. The bird took four huge strides and then leaped into the air. Becky felt her stomach drop the way it did on a roller coaster and she instinctively closed her eyes, but as the bird began to glide, she felt more comfortable and began to look around.

  From the sky, the landscape was decidedly blue. There were dots and patches of color everywhere, but they were like decorations on a vast blue carpet. It wasn’t very easy to see because the waccasassa’s back was so broad, but its body dipped with every movement of its wings, giving Becky a different angle from which to look. The palace was behind her and it was surprising how quickly Tamarisk City receded.

  It didn’t take long for Becky to grow accustomed to the feeling of being airborne. Flying in the open air was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before—actually, it was a little like her dizzy spells, but way more enjoyable—and she reveled in it. It was almost like she had wings herself. She knew people had dreams of being able to fly, but she’d never had one of those. If those people only knew what they were missing . . .

  By the time they were in the air a few minutes, Becky could see nothing but forest. Not long after this, the landscape flattened and they came to a huge plain marked by deep black rows of soil and vibrant blue stalks of the local crops.

  The waccasassa descended quickly. It seemed to Becky that it was descending much too quickly. Did birds have malfunctions? If they crashed, would the tufts save her? Maybe she should have insisted on a helmet. Could she actually get hurt in Tamarisk? Suddenly, she was very nervous, but when they were no more than a few dozen feet from the ground, the bird arched upward and stretched its wings wide to come to a feather-soft landing.

  This was one very cool method of transportation.

  The tufts supporting Becky had shifted and stiffened during the flight, and it took some effort for her to free herself. Soon, though, she made it down. She saw she was on a farm of some sort. The stand of crops she’d viewed from the air was in the near distance. On a hillside, large beasts that she’d named bonsals grazed lazily while chittering purismas pecked at and groomed them, and nearly round but incredibly agile pulgases hopped back and forth over the bonsals’ hulking forms. The constant bouncing of the pulgases around the bonsals must have been annoying, because every now and then a bonsal would sit down, roll over, and attempt to kick at a pulgas without success—the big animals were much too slow. She felt bad for the poor, harried bonsals. She should have given them more dexterity, but she hadn’t thought of it when she’d created their story.

  The sound was different out here. If the sounds around the palace were like a symphony, here it was more like a folk song. The noises were simpler here and more ordered, and the “melody” was more basic. Becky could imagine humming the tune that nature made out here. The one constant was that discordant note. That same sound Becky had heard the first time she went outside in Tamarisk and heard again today near the palace was present on this land. It was out of tune with everything else and, if anything, louder here than it was near the queen. Maybe this was one of the ways that Tamarisk “invented” itself. Maybe Tamariskians had a slightly different sense of what sounded good— although what she’d heard from the norbeck composer sounded great to her. Mysteries were cool. She’d have fun trying to solve this one.

  There was a wooden structure just down the hill from where she stood. Becky started in that direction and then turned back to the waccasassa. Did she need to tell it to stay? Waccasassas could be taught to go anywhere in Tamarisk, but they required special trainers to give them their directions. Becky had no idea how to talk to the bird.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said, almost certain the waccasassa—the only way she could get back to the palace—couldn’t understand her.

  As Becky got closer to the barn (it looked more like a big storage shed, but farms had barns, didn’t they?), she heard a heavy shaking sound, something like marbles in a can, followed by swishing. The door of the barn was open and she saw a man banging the dirt-laden bottom of a large blue stalk against a crate and then plunging the stalk into a barrel of water and moving it around briskly. He repeated the process twice while she watched. After the second time, Becky noticed hundreds of tiny vegetables emerging from the dirt and clinging to the stalk. She’d come upon a microfarmer. There were very few of them in all of Tama-risk.

  The farmer set to banging the stalk on the side of the crate again when he noticed her. Their eyes connected, and Becky felt for a second like she’d met the man before. When she looked at him again, though, she realized he didn’t seem familiar.

  “Well, hello,” he said.

  “Hello. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “The only thing disturbing me is the dirt around these fenigers.” He whacked the stalk a little harder and some more dirt came loose. “It’s tenacious stuff.”

  He gave the stalk another whack and then plunged it back into the water with extra force. When he pulled the stalk out of the barrel, he examined the still-clotted cluster, scraping some more dirt away with his fingers. “I’m getting there. Very, very slowly, but I’m getting there.”

  He dug deeper with his fingers and pulled loose a narrow scarlet root. It looked a little like a carrot but it was a fraction of the size and it was twisted like fusilli pasta. “You like fenigers?” he said, holding the vegetable out to her.

  “I’ve never had one.”

  The farmer looked at her disbelievingly. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “No, I’m not. But it’s nice to be here.”

  The farmer nodded and then swished the plucked feniger in the barrel of water to clean off any remaining dirt. He handed it to Becky. “Give it a try.”

  “Thanks,” Becky said, examining the vegetable.

  “Little bites.”

  “Yes, I remember.” She bit off the tiniest tip of the feniger—up to the first curl—and her mouth instantly filled with the taste. It was like she’d swallowed an entire plate of food at once. The feniger was buttery like really good mashed potatoes, but a little spicy as well, as though it had jalapenos mixed into it. As Becky chewed—not the easiest thing to do considering the little size of the bite she’d taken—more flavors hit her taste buds. Something bitter like a green pepper and pungent like balsamic vinegar. Then the mashed potato flavor returned and stayed on her tongue after she swallowed.

  “Wow,” she said, looking up at the farmer.

  “You got a good one?”

  “I wouldn’t know the difference, but I’m guessing it was a very good one.”

  Becky took another bite and the sensation washed over her again. She was suddenl
y ravenously hungry and she finished off the rest of the feniger in one shot. That was a mistake. Her hunger was instantly gone, replaced by a strong sense that she’d eaten the equivalent of an extra large pizza.

  “Most people take it a little slower,” the farmer said.

  Becky put her hand on her stomach. She was stuffed. “I got carried away. That was silly.”

  “If you got a good one, I understand the temptation.” The farmer grinned and then cocked his head. “So if you’re not from around here, where are you from?”

  “I live . . . near the palace.”

  The farmer nodded. “That’s quite a distance away. Are you out here visiting family or friends?”

  The flavor of the feniger still saturated Becky’s mouth. She had a feeling it would be there for a while. “I’m just out for a ride.”

  “Heck of a trip. Well, it was nice to meet you. Enjoy the rest of your day.” The farmer turned back toward the stalk and the bucket. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work. I need to get the rest of these babies loose sometime before my hundredth birthday.”

  “Of course. I didn’t mean to interrupt you. It looks like a tough job.”

  “Not tough, just slow. I really shouldn’t complain, though. A regular farmer would need to harvest an entire row of normal vegetables to get the yield I get from one stalk. I remind myself about that every thirty whacks or so. Anyway, I’d better get back.”

  Becky started to turn and then stopped. “Would you mind if I gave it a few whacks?”

  The farmer seemed confused by the request. “Your clothes are awfully nice—they certainly dress differently near the palace—I wouldn’t want you to mess them up.”

  “Maybe just one whack?”

  The farmer shrugged. “Sure, if that’s what you’d like. I’ll just take a little rest by the fence and you can whack away.”