Wonder Made

Twelve, Part Two

She walked toward the far edge of the space and peered out. Insects, half her size, with bulbous human heads carried on tiny silver shoulders and armored bodies stared at her with tilted intrigue. Enamored by these bugs which were not of the fumigating variety, she waved. The one who tended her raindrop gave a wiggle of its arms, antenna twitching.

"And what are those?"

"The Zipkinn," Crispen said.

"And they usher the rain and help it tumble to the ground? It's no joint feat of the water cycle and gravity?"

"Yes."

Peneloper watched the creature's wings, which ran the length of a very broad, muscular back, as they strained to keep the bug astride while its four arms all worked in tandem, rolling the drop toward the ground. Sweat slicked its brow. "Amazing." She walked away from the water wall, as strokes of sickly yellow filled her vision. "We've fallen inside, haven't we?"

Crispen's words conveyed the smile undoubtedly tugging on the corners of his mouth. "That wallpaper stands out, even when it's just blurry streaks."

"It also reeks of mold and bird dander and—" she sniffed the air, "freshly brewed floral tea."

"Of course," Crispen said, his voice taking a turn for the serious, which Peneloper instantly recognized, and hated, as it was the tone all teachers took when wishing to impart their 'wisdom.'

Her reaction, honed from years crammed behind a desk and listening to some self-important adult's crooning, put on its Kevlar, leveled its gun and went on the defensive. A barricade erupted in her mind, shielding her from the potential wounds a teacher's words could inflict. She gritted her teeth, and waited to advance on the next opportunity to fight against whatever words Crispen spewed next. Thankfully, and uncharacteristically of all Peneloper's prior experiences, they made sense.

"Chant and I ride the rain with you, your lesson, therefore, is to harness magic and locate us, before the rain falls into one of my pails and we go splat."

Peneloper's mind relaxed, her curiosity piquing. "I'm to do this with minimal instruction?"

"Thought that was the only way an Auttsley learned."

"Maybe with matters less magical, but this —"

The Zipkinn, who'd been ferrying her particular drop, zoomed aside, as another flew up to take its place. This Zipkinn was noticeably more delicately cut than its predecessor, its thorax slimmer, its carapace streamlined. It wore gloves upon its hands and had a particular glow in the face which reminded Peneloper of girls caught in the thrall of first love's initial blush.

She waved, meaning to show this newest Zipkinn the cordiality she'd shown the last, and it responded in kind, raising all its hands and giving her a brief flex of its fingers. Peneloper smiled, the creature's mandibles rubbing together in a high-pitched trill.

"Peneloper," Crispen called out from the ether. She returned her attention to him, as the Zipkinn seemed to return its attention to the work at hand, and pressing palm to drop, kick-started the descent. "You have to calm your mind."

Easier said than done, she thought, exhibiting in real-time how hard a request that would be for her.

Crispen continued, as though he hadn't read that last thought of hers, though he had, "Close your eyes. Feel the magic."

Doing as she'd been instructed, she felt nothing, aside from the cool chill associated with a mid-October rain when temperatures hovered around freezing. "Now," Crispen continued, "Picture yourself doing what you love most."