Blue
Page 17
Becky smiled and walked over to the stalk, thanking the man. This was very exciting to her. She was going to do something in Tamarisk. So far, she’d had the time of her life, but she’d only been a spectator. Here, even if she harvested one little microvegetable, she’d be making a contribution. That felt very good to her.
The stalk didn’t feel the way she expected it to feel when she picked it up. The bark was spongy and pliable yet somehow still rigid. She looked at the bottom of the stalk and saw mostly dirt and spidery roots along with a few curly ends of fenigers. She checked the crate the farmer had been banging the stalk against and noticed only a couple of vegetables at the bottom. How long had he been going at this? Was she holding a day’s work in her hands?
“Do I do the water first or the crate?”
“Bang it a few times. Sometimes when you let it rest for a few minutes you can knock a bunch of dirt off in one shot.”
Becky raised the stalk and tried to repeat the motion the farmer had made earlier. She hit the clod against the crate three times, but almost nothing happened. Didn’t they have machines to take care of this kind of thing? She held the clod toward her and tried to free up a couple of vegetables with her fingernail. The dark black dirt was granular, more like salt than the dirt in Connecticut. Still, it clung to the fenigers like the thickest mud.
“You need to keep putting it in the water,” the farmer said.
But wouldn’t that make it more like mud? The whole process seemed futile to Becky, but she gave it her best shot. “How many fenigers are actually in here?”
“Dozens. Maybe more than a hundred. I’ll have them all out by sundown.”
Not if you let me do it, you won’t. She whacked and dunked several more times, determined to have a little bit of success. Almost by accident, two fenigers came free and she pulled them from the root and threw them in the crate. Her arms felt strained, though it felt good—like she’d had a really active gym class.
She held out the stalk. “I think it might be better for me to leave this to an expert.”
The farmer rose to his feet and took the stalk from her. “Your fingernails were getting smudged anyway.”
Becky looked down at her hands. Why didn’t the dirt just flake off? She thought about asking if she could wash her hands and then decided she’d rather not. “Thanks for letting me try this out.”
“I’m happy for the help. Come back anytime. I can always use another set of muscles. Wear different clothes if you do, though. The soil in this area is different from the soil in most of the kingdom. It’s great for microfarming, but not so good for nice outfits.”
Becky stepped toward the entrance of the barn. “I’ll remember that. Thanks again.”
“Have a good time on the rest of your trip.”
Becky waved and then headed up the hill. When she got to the top, she was relieved to see that the waccasassa was still waiting for her. What would have happened if the bird had flown off without her? Would she still have been pulled back to her bed at the allotted time the way she had on other nights? Or would she have been too far away for the signal (or whatever it was that connected her between the two worlds) to reach her, leaving her to figure out some way back to the palace—and then some way back home—by herself? Fortunately, she didn’t need the answer to that question.
She climbed aboard the gull and settled into its tufts. She looked back toward the barn and saw the farmer gazing up at her. She could barely make out his face, but she saw enough to realize that the presence of the bird surprised him. Waccasassas probably didn’t land in this area very often. She waved to him again and he waved back tentatively. He probably thinks I’m rich or royalty or something. If he knew what I really am he’d be even more surprised.
The bird was again airborne, taking a few quick, elongated steps and then leaping skyward. It felt a little weird to Becky not to have any idea where she was going, but she certainly felt safe nestled within the waccasassa (especially now that she’d experienced her first landing) and she knew instinctively that the gull would never put her in any danger. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel the sensation of soaring. This was nothing like flying in an airplane. She raised her hands upward the way she always did when she was on a roller coaster, and her sense of flight intensified. This place just seemed to have an endless number of remarkable experiences lined up for her.
The bird made a sudden, abrupt turn, as though something had called it. The waccasassa fully extended its neck and Becky felt a definite surge in speed. How fast could these things go? More importantly, how fast could they go and keep her from flying off into the air? So much for instinctive feelings! She couldn’t fix her eyes on the landscape now. The air rushed by so fast that she found it hard to focus on anything. She had a feeling it wouldn’t have mattered. The ground was probably whooshing past her.
A few minutes later, the bird slowed. Becky felt its body relax as the speed diminished, and by the time the waccasassa landed, Becky felt like she was riding a kite. She loved these animals.
Becky stepped down onto a field that was very different from the others she’d seen in Tamarisk. Lots of grays here. She didn’t remember making anything gray in the stories she’d created—certainly not an entire field (or at least most of one; there were a few patches of blue). She stooped down to touch a plant. It wasn’t just strangely colored; it was withered. The vine she held wasn’t entirely dead—in fact, it seemed a little bluer up close than it had from a distance—and it hadn’t entirely drooped, but no one would call it healthy. What happened to this place? Becky remembered the woman at the kingdom congress who complained about an infestation of vilases. Did something like that do this damage?
Standing here filled Becky with sadness. This wasn’t the way Tamarisk was supposed to be. It felt wrong. Seriously wrong. At the same time, though, Becky felt a strong sense of motivation. Maybe it was because she’d just “gotten her hands dirty” here. She felt like she was part of this place now. That meant that if it needed help, she should do what she could to help it. She had no idea what that meant—or what the problem even was here—but she felt the need to try to fix it.
Becky looked up and saw a figure in the distance. The farmer of this field, maybe? He’d probably know what was going on.
As Becky approached, she noticed that the person she thought was a farmer was someone who seemed to be only a couple of years older than she was. He wore sunglasses and a hat, but even still Becky could tell he was really good-looking. Maybe even as good-looking as Cam Parker.
The boy was shoveling some withered plants into a bag. When she got closer, he stood up and walked toward her.
“Is this yours?” he said.
Becky didn’t know what he meant right away. “The field? No, actually, I thought it was yours.”
The boy took a few seconds to consider this. “I’m visiting,” he said finally.
“Yeah, me too.”
The boy looked back toward the bag. Becky got the distinct impression she’d disturbed him. When he didn’t say anything more, she said, “My name is Becky, by the way.”
The boy raised a hand in a half wave. “I’m Rubus.”
“Where are you visiting from?”
Again, he didn’t answer right away. “Another . . . part of the kingdom.”
There was no way he was telling the truth. Was it possible he’d traveled here from another world as well? How strange would that be? “Do you know what happened here? I don’t think these plants are supposed to look this way.”
“Something got to them. I can’t figure out what it is.”
“Is that why you’re putting things in that bag? Are you doing some kind of research?”
The boy’s eyes flicked back in the direction of the bag again. “I, uh, yeah. That’s what I’m doing.”
Rubus either didn’t like talking to girls or was nervous for some other reason. “Well, good luck with it. It’d be a shame if this farmer lost his field.”
/> Rubus nodded, looked down at his hands, looked up at Becky for a long moment, and then looked out on the landscape. “It’s a beautiful place, isn’t it?”
Becky followed his eyes. Even this withered field seemed nice. It wasn’t as much gray as it was silvery. “You’re right; it is. I wish it were healthier, though.”
“Not just right here. I’m talking about everywhere around here. So beautiful. So full of life. I don’t know how they got all of this when what we wound up with was concrete and metal.”
Concrete and metal? As far as Becky knew, there weren’t any parts of Tamarisk filled with concrete and metal. Where did this guy come from? Some futuristic science fiction universe? The only part of this world that was mostly concrete and metal was . . .
“Gunnthorn.”
The boy startled when she said the word. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re from Gunnthorn?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Are you a spy?”
Rubus took a quick step toward her and for a second Becky thought he was going to attack. Then he stopped, his shoulders slumped. “I’m not a spy.”
“But you’re from Gunnthorn.”
“I didn’t say that. And where are you visiting from?”
It was Becky’s turn to hesitate. “I’m from . . . someplace just outside of the kingdom.”
Rubus smiled at her wryly. “I guess we both have secrets, huh?”
Becky laughed. Something about the way he said that made her feel more comfortable. She had no idea who Rubus was, but he didn’t seem like a bad guy. And he was very good-looking. “I’m not a spy, either.”
“That’s good. If you were a spy, I’d have to turn you in.” He smiled at her again and then nodded toward the waccasassa. “Nice bird.”
“Yeah. I’d offer you a ride in it, but I’m still learning how it works. I’m not sure how many passengers it holds.”
“Too bad. I’ve never been in one. The view of this place from up in the air must be amazing.”
Becky remembered that Gunnthorn had airplanes (well, something very similar to them) instead of passenger gulls, but that they weren’t allowed in Tamariskian airspace. “You really like it here, huh?”
Rubus’s expression got dreamy. “Here? I love it. I can just imagine what I’d do with land like this.”
Those words from a Thorn made Becky a little suspicious. “Why don’t you move here?”
He snickered. “Not so easy for someone like me.”
“Why not?”
He looked down at his hands again. “My family wouldn’t approve.”
Becky thought about the conversation with her mother. “Yeah, I can relate.”
“Parents can be difficult sometimes.”
“Tell me about it. Mine have their moments. They’re okay most of the time, though.”
“I wish I could say the same. Listen, I have to get back to my . . . research. Maybe we could see each other again sometime, though.”
Becky felt herself blush. What’s that? I don’t blush. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Are you going to be here for a while?”
“I come and go.”
“Me too. Can I look you up somewhere?”
Becky wrinkled her nose. “I’m not that easy to reach here.”
Rubus seemed to think about this for a very long time. “That’s too bad,” he said. Then his expression brightened. “Who knows, though? Maybe fate will throw us together again.”
“That would be cool.” Becky lifted a hand in a mirror of his earlier half wave. “See you around.”
He half-waved back. “I hope so.”
Becky walked back to the bird, turning back once. Rubus was watching her. His eyes were still on her when she got to the waccasassa. When she turned toward the bird, she noticed that it was avoiding looking at her, as though it were ashamed of something. What was that about? Had the bird taken her someplace it wasn’t supposed to go? It was kind of hard to believe that Miea wanted her to see this damaged field. Becky wished she hadn’t taken away all the animal voices. It would be nice to ask the waccasassa what was going on. Instead, she climbed on the bird, and they took off.
They had another long flight where the bird did its supersonic thing again. Becky was better prepared for it this time, though. Eventually, they touched down in a long, blue field. As she stepped from the waccasassa, Becky saw nothing around her. Then, from a hill at her back, she heard the sound:
Step-crack.
Step-step-crack.
Step-step-step-crack-step-crack-step-crack-step-crack.
Poledisk! Becky laughed aloud and ran up the hill to gaze down at the other side. There she found a dozen teenagers playing another of the games she’d invented. Three kids on the offensive side circled around their teammate who was the launcher, protecting him while he prepared to launch the Frisbee-like disk he held. Meanwhile two other kids raced down the field, poles raised high, waiting to catch the launched disk. The six kids on the other side were defenders, holding their poles aloft and attempting to prevent the offensive team’s efforts—or better yet capture the disk and go on the offensive themselves.
The launcher launched the disk just out of the way of a defender’s pole and the disc arced down the field toward a receiver. He must have been a good one, because two defenders were covering him. In spite of this, he caught the disk and took off with it, keeping the disk spinning on his pole the entire time, as was required. Finally, one of the defenders was able to knock the receiver’s pole with his own, causing the disk to fall to the ground, where the next play would begin.
Becky sat down on the hill to watch the action. These kids seemed pretty good at this. It must have been a pickup game, though, since there were no coaches around. Eventually, the first team scored, crossing the goal line on a play where the receiver nearly bobbled the disk away. Now the second team was on the offensive. Their launcher had a very strong arm, but he wasn’t terribly accurate. His launches seemed to go all over the place, and twice in this series the defenders nearly intercepted him. Slowly, though, his team made its way down the field. Before each play started, the offense lined up and performed the same act to indicate that a play was about to begin, stamping their feet and smacking their poles together.
Step-crack.
Step-step-crack.
Step-step-step-crack-step-crack-step-crack-step-crack.
They of course had no way of knowing that they did this because Becky got the idea from her one year of Irish dancing classes.
The launcher’s erratic launches threatened to kill his team’s chances. His latest launch was so far off the mark that it landed a good twenty feet out of bounds. One of the receivers dropped her pole and trotted after it, looking back at the launcher with obvious anger. When she picked up the disk, she glanced up the hill and made eye contact with Becky.
“Hey,” the girl said.
Becky waved. “Hey.”
“What’re you doing?”
“Just watching. Is that okay?”
The girl rolled her eyes. “As long as you like watching a slaughter. We’re down by five.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. You like playing poledisk?”
“I’ve never done it.”
The girl looked at her strangely. “You’ve never played poledisk?”
Becky wrinkled her nose. “They don’t play it as much where I come from.”
From the girl’s expression, Becky could tell that this sounded weird to her, but the girl let it pass. She retrieved her pole. “Want to give it a try?”
Becky leaned forward. “You mean try playing?”
“Yeah. You can use my pole. Or maybe one of the extras. They’ll probably let us play seven-on-six considering how much they’re beating us.”
Becky stood up. She was a little nervous about the idea of playing. After all, just because she created the game didn’t mean that she’d be any good at it. “Okay. Yeah, I guess so.”
As anticipated, the other team was perfectly fine with the idea of playing seven-on-six. For the first several plays, Becky was one of the circlers, which was good because it didn’t require much skill other than making sure to do the starting steps properly. She managed to keep the rushers away from the launcher, though ultimately the launcher’s erratic performance killed the drive. When they switched over to defense, her teammates put Becky on the line again. It didn’t take much of a leap to realize that the kids on the line were the ones with the least talent. Considering that all of Becky’s poledisk experience had come in the past few minutes, it was hard to argue against being lumped in this group. It turned out that she wasn’t a very good rusher, either. She dropped her pole on the first play and never got anywhere near the action on the second. The other team’s launcher got off a great launch and they were now only a few yards from the goal line.
On her way back after that play, she shrugged her shoulders and apologized to her teammates. They all seemed cool about things except for one guy, who just scowled at her.
The next play was amazing, though. Becky tried rushing again and found herself even farther from the launcher than she had been on the play before. As the launcher released the disk, one of Becky’s teammates tipped the disk with his pole. Instead of launching forward, the disk went off to the side—right in Becky’s direction. Not having any idea what she was doing, Becky stuck her pole up and caught the disk as it came toward her. She remembered that she needed to twirl the disk to keep it on her pole and she did so, frantically. Then she remembered that she was supposed to run with it. With the entire field open in front of her, she dashed toward the opposite goal line, twirling her pole madly as she did. She didn’t want to look to see who was behind her, so she just ran as hard as she could. When she crossed the goal, she turned to find her teammates running up behind her and the other team shaking their heads.
“Your first score,” said the girl who’d invited her to play, patting her lightly on the leg with her pole. Caitlin Krieger, that’s who she reminds me of , Becky thought. Caitlin had sat next to her in third grade and they had done a couple of school projects together even though they never really became friends. Third grade was when Becky had invented poledisk.