Wander Dust

by Michelle Warren

  Chapter 23: The Relicutionist

  The entire machine lurches to life. The floor rumbles beneath our feet, and everyone takes a cautious step back. The room creaks and moans, protesting the powerful shaking. The sound tweaks my ears with a deafening tone. I reach to cover them, but this isn’t enough to muffle the steam engine noise.

  Although unified, the contraption can be broken down into three visible sections: a small glass dome cover, which now encases the relic; then a wooden control panel, covered with green buttons, gauges, and steaming pipes; and lastly, a massive, enclosed glass display—or maybe it’s more like a gigantic tube. Sparkling fog materializes inside. I’m not sure which part to watch with all three sections galvanized in their own world of chaos.

  The entire machine sits on two pairs of wagon wheels, one set much larger than the other. It jumps and rolls back and forth for several moments, and when I think it has reached its limit and will absolutely blow—silence. I look on in shock, waiting for the action to start again. What it will do next, I can’t even fathom.

  The glass dome glows brightly with golden streams of light. The encased relic lifts slowly, defying gravity. Now that the relic hovers, I can see it clearly. It’s a miniature model of a hang glider. The relic moves gracefully through the air, flapping its wings. The movements are as fluid as a bird’s, but this is not an animal. This is a wood and fabric model of a flying machine.

  It flutters to the top of the case then slowly descends in a spiral motion. Delicate wings skim the glass edge. The model flies repeatedly in a circular pattern from top to bottom.

  The large tube seems to react to the glowing relic. A lightning storm breaks out in the sparkling, fog-filled space. Blue fingers of electrical current creep around the glass wall, zapping and popping until a color image forms in the center.

  Collectively, students press forward to get a better look. Now I must stand on my tiptoes to see. In complete silence, the relicutionist presents the relic’s life path in reverse chronological order.

  The introductory images are quick flashes, held airborne for just enough time for the mind to register the scene and move on. Then the images flip like pages in a long picture book.

  First, an image of Macey appears. Next, the object sits on the archive shelves. Then, several students use it in their studies. Mr. Matchimus catalogs the relic. Finally, a thousand other images follow, spooling by so fast that if I blink, I know I will miss at least a hundred of them.

  The images slow, reaching the desired destination. I assume it has come to the keyword that Mr. Matchimus typed into the contraption’s typewriter—the name of a person or place that interacted with the object very early on in its life.

  I recognize the man the moment I see him, a master artist, architect, and engineer—Leonardo Da Vinci. Now, the movie plays back the events in order, moving forward in time.

  The relic has just been made, the last piece of silk stitched onto its delicate wooden frame. Da Vinci holds the model, admiring it from all sides. He rises from his wooden workbench and walks to the middle of his studio. Lithely, he dances around, gliding the object through the air like a small child playing with a new toy.

  I’m captivated with the aged man, a genius by any standards, playing with his new creation. He swipes the glider through the air, seemingly letting his imagination run wild with the possibility of flying.

  Mr. Matchimus pulls a rusted lever, moving the images fast forward. When he stops on a new scene, Da Vinci stands on a hillside, surrounded by plush green grass and jagged rocks. He holds the model in his hand, explaining its details in Italian to a group of younger men.

  After much discussion, Da Vinci sets the relic on a nearby canvas satchel and walks to a full-size replica of the model sitting in the background under a tree. Four men lift the life-size flying machine and Da Vinci steps into the driver’s harness. The men fasten his arms with leather straps, securing his body.

  My jaw drops. I realize that I’m going to watch Da Vinci attempt to fly his own creation down a rocky hillside.

  Right before the group lifts him off the edge, he yells out in Italian, “Among the angels!” He and the flying machine catch a rush of wind and sweep over the edge of the hill. I gasp out loud, knowing he won’t make it. But to my surprise, the old man glides for several moments. Immeasurable elation paints his face.

  Then, he crashes.

  Every student cringes away from the image. Da Vinci crawls out from underneath the damaged flying machine and collapses in tear-filled joy and uncontrolled laughter.

  Mr. Matchimus ends our preview by turning off the machine. The relicutionist darkens. The hovering relic circles back to a resting position on the velvet tray. Mr. Matchimus steps in front of the machine.

  “I thought we didn’t fly until the late nineteenth century,” a girl asks from the group.

  “Yes, that’s the case, if you’re a Normal.” Mr. Matchimus snickers. “Of course, they only believe what they have proof to believe.” He folds his hands on his stomach and continues. “Still, this machine has its imperfections. As I mentioned earlier, the machine will not tell you where the instance you just watched took place or whom was involved.”

  “Who was it?” another student questions.

  “Some of you may have recognized the great Leonardo Da Vinci.” Mr. Matchimus raises his hand toward the machine. “This event took place on Mount Ceceri, outside of Florence, Italy, near Da Vinci’s work studio.”

  “What about the larger relics?” Sam asks, eyeing the stained glass window behind us.

  “This machine cannot track their path because of their size,” he answers.

  “Why do you keep them?”

  “Well, a Seer can still meditate on them, but you can’t wander with them, not with ease.”

  “Can you break a small piece off?” Sam asks.

  “No. No. Heavens no! If you break them apart, they’d be broken, fragmented in time, creating travel roads that are warped and scrambled. We wouldn’t know where it would send you if you tried to use them. Very dangerous, indeed,” Mr. Matchimus scolds.

  “We keep them just in case we’re able to design something in the future to extract their life path energies. You must always be prepared for what may be.”

  Sam crosses her arms, clearly annoyed by Mr. Matchimus’ chiding. He raises his eyebrows at her stance. “Well then, moving on. Over here we have the less exciting computers,” he says as he shuffles through the crowd.

  Behind us, against the wall, sits a row of computers that look as dated as the relicutionist. “You will use them much the same as a library computer. Every relic, large and small, is entered into the searchable database on these machines. Simply type in a keyword, and the search engine will acquire a list of all relevant relics and their position within the archive facility.”

  •

  One class fades into the next, and within a few hours I stand poolside in the main floor atrium with a group of students waiting for our next class, Team Tactics I. My classes are anything but conventional, and it’s a welcome change from a Normal class schedule.

  To anyone standing nearby, I’m admiring the intricate metalwork of the domed ceiling, but internally I’m formulating some future retaliation for Perpetua.

  At lunch I sat with Macey and the others as I had the night before. I’m positive Perpetua deliberately positioned herself in front of me at the next table, so she could stare at me through the entire lunch period. She must have been taking evil cues from Terease. She hadn’t affected me the same way as Terease, of course, and I don’t think she has the ability to, but she’s trying hard. I know it wasn’t my imagination because Stu noticed her evil glares. He seemed intrigued by the tension, mentioning he couldn’t wait for the catfight to begin.

  I’m brought back to this moment when Ms. Midgenet appears on a catwalk, hanging precariously five stories above the pool, a megaphone in her hand. Everyone looks up, pointing. I shiver at the height.

 
She’s a small, spunky woman, whose top half looks as though it might crush the bottom. Her narrow waist and tapered legs are strangely disproportional to her wide shoulders and chest. Apparently, she pulls double duty by working in the office and conducting Team Tactics.

  She holds the megaphone to her mouth. “Okay, kiddies, let’s get started.” Her curt voice belts across the open space.

  “It’s imperative for you, as a team, to trust each other on your time-traveling journeys. I’ve devised a special exercise for our first class to build that trust.” Static accompanies her voice as it shrieks through the megaphone.

  As if on cue, she appears next to us. Sparkles radiate in a halo around her body. With a small wooden box in her grasp, she walks around to each team. “Every Seer, please take one marble from the box. This is your relic for today’s class.

  “Does everyone remember Gabe’s little trapeze act the other night? Or just now, did you see me instantly move from the catwalk to the pool deck?” She places the empty box on the floor and turns.

  “Okay, so, what Gabe was doing when he rolled off the trapeze and appeared on the floor, or what I just did, is called skipping. It’s a simultaneous movement in time from one point to another. We neither lost nor gained time. It’s the quickest and easiest wandering move to learn. It can only be performed in true time. True time being this period of time. You cannot skip when you’re in another time period. Understood?” She yells the last word through the megaphone.

  I have a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I’m pretty sure I’m not going to like this trust exercise.

  “Why do we need the marble if we can use our clothes as relics?” Sam trails Ms. Midgenet, peppering her with questions.

  “Solely for the purpose of demonstration,” she says. “We just need a small relic to connect the team. Seers, go ahead and do your thing.” She flings her hand around in a dismissive manner.

  Some Seers remain standing; others sit on the floor, meditating. They cup their hands around their marbles, much in the same way Mona demonstrated to me at the pizzeria.

  Sam gracefully sits with her ankles crossed and knees tucked under her body, her eyes closed and her face calm. Now and then, a smile twitches across her pink lips. Her hair hangs in one long braid and drapes over her shoulder. Even in meditation, she’s perfectly poised.

  “Now, the Seers are looking back into the marble’s life path. New Seers can see as much as ten years into the past. As they develop their skills, they can see much, much further,” Ms. Midgenet commentates gruffly.

  Marbles of various size and color glow, suspended in the air. Ms. Midgenet allows the Seers to ponder the relics for some time while everyone else seems to marvel at the light display.

  “Okay, Seers, that’s enough.” She claps her hands twice and they awake from their meditative states. Marbles drop instantly from the air, landing in their owner’s grasp.

  “Now, tell your teammates what you’ve found,” Ms. Midgenet instructs.

  As Bishop joins me, Sam waltzes over, apparently very underwhelmed by the experience. “Before being given to us here on the pool patio, it’s been with Gabe, sitting in a wooden box on his desk. He pranced in and out of the office all day, making freaky faces at the box. He must have known we’d see him with them. Before that, it was at Ms. Midgenet’s house in her roommate’s bedroom, sitting on the carpet. Her cat, Rasputin, played with this one for some time. It kept him quite entertained for about an hour. I’m guessing you won’t really need any info beyond the pool deck,” Sam says. She rolls her eyes with boredom, spins, and walks away.

  I raise my eyes to look at Bishop. “I guess they all can’t be Da Vinci relics,” I joke.

  “I almost forgot,” Ms. Midgenet intercedes. “The Wanderer and the Protector are each separately able to control the direction of a journey with the keyword, but only one at a time. For the first exercise, let’s give the Protectors control of the relic and keyword.”

  Bishop smirks, giving me a look of satisfaction. He snatches the marble out of my hand. I can see he relishes the fact that he will be in control. I also realize that this is how he saved me the other night from the gang. He controlled the relic and keyword for the journey as we skipped from in front of a recklessly speeding truck and safely to the Academy.

  “Where are we skipping from, exactly,” I ask him, worried.

  “From there, of course.” He points to the catwalk five stories above, positioned over the pool. Ms. Midgenet waves, already back in position.

  My knees weaken and my face drains of blood, leaving me light-headed. I feel cold, clammy, and sick. I crouch down by the pool. Sitting for a moment, I breathe deeply, struggling to calm myself.

  A pair of red shoes walks up to me. I look up.

  “Scared, Seraphina?” Perpetua smirks with one eyebrow raised in curiosity. Bishop, at her side, appraises the look on my face.

  “No, of course not,” I retort. The little witch has never said one nice word to me. Now she’s practically daring me to jump off a catwalk, sixty feet in the air. I just want to be sick.

  I look away, hiding the sweat that’s beading on my brow. Nonchalantly, I dip my hands into the pool. I dab the cool water on my neck, and I inhale again. I can do this. Standing back up, I meet her gaze.

  I smile, feigning cheerfulness. “Are you ready, Bishop? I’d rather go first.” My words trail into a higher pitch than normal because I can’t believe I’m volunteering to go first. I give Perpetua a cocky smirk and grab Bishop’s arm, pulling him toward the elevator, heading up to the catwalk.

  She harrumphs.

  •

  Above on the catwalk, it appears to be three times as high. I walk ramrod straight across the mesh iron walkway, holding my breath. A bead of sweat rolls down my forehead and into my eye. It burns, and I want to rub it away, but my hands are locked in a death grip around the railings. I attempt to only look ahead, but my gaze flutters to my feet, where I appear to be walking over a flimsy piece of metal. I hope Perpetua can’t see the sickly green color of my face from the ground.

  When I reach Ms. Midgenet, she’s thrilled by my eagerness to go first as though I’m the perfect experimental subject. I’m ill with my complete act of stupidity.

  “Where are we skipping to?” Bishop asks Ms. Midgenet. When I peek up at him, he’s completely calm and confident.

  “Just to the patio, beside the pool with the other students. Focus on the landing.” She points at him. “I’ll secure you both with a bungee cord for the first go-round. We do this over the pool for the scaredy-cats.” She makes a face and snickers.

  She positions Bishop and me close together, face to face. Then she begins the process of strapping us in. I look at him now because I don’t want to look anywhere else and remind myself what I’m about to do.

  “We don’t have to do this, you know,” Bishop says, assessing my body language.

  “Yes, we do.” I peek over my shoulder and down at Perpetua. Even from this high, I can tell she’s freaking out that Bishop is standing this close to me. Someone’s moving in on her territory, and she can’t do anything about it. This is payback enough for her cold stares. Although, she’ll never realize that skipping from this height will bother me more than her jealousy toward me. I smile weakly, looking back at him, hoping I’m not going to barf.

  “You’re scared of heights,” he says.

  “No,” I blurt, embarrassed. I don’t want him or anyone else to know how weak I really am.

  I shake my head, taking a shuddering breath. Despite my denial, I know he understands because he instantly slides his arms around my back in an unexpected embrace. His fingers splay. Somehow, they envelop my entire back. He tightens his body, huddling close. I rest my head on his chest, taking in several more deep breaths. The fragrance of his aftershave calms me. It swirls through my body and quiets my racing heart. My tense shoulders fall from next to my ears and relax. Before long, my breathing matches the rise and fall of his ches
t. Now I realize, hidden inside his strong arms, I could be anywhere and it wouldn’t matter.

  “Mr. Bishop,” Ms. Midgenet interrupts. “Do you have the marble relic in hand?”

  “Yes.” His head nods above me.

  “Focus on the pool deck and your landing. Do not, under any circumstances, let go of Seraphina during the transition.”

  Bishop tucks his head into the curve of my neck and whispers, “That won’t be a problem.”