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The Wheel

This was always meant to be. The Wheel is turning and it has brought us here and if we don't do anything about it, the Wheel will turn without us. - Excerpt from the journal of Isaac Horn

By Shannon HaffelyPublished 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 8 min read
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The Wheel
Photo by Chelms Varthoumlien on Unsplash

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Some days they could be forgotten. People plastered smiles on their faces, kept their heads down, prayed to gods who had long since stopped listening for that fleeting shred of normalcy to last. Other days, massive wings blotted out the sun, plunged the Valley into a swarming, hungry darkness that never seemed to end.

Today was one of those rare days where the dragons disappeared, as if they had never arrived at all. No one yet understood why the horde hid. Whether it was an instinctual hibernation had been speculated, and in fact was one of the most popular theories. Others believed it to be a hunting tactic, meant to lure the Valley into a false sense of security. Few would outright mention the Wheel. But beneath scientific theories and predatory conjecture, everyone knew the dragons were here because of the Wheel.

Marta Willoughby was of the handful that dared approach the Wheel. Her fingers tightened around her handlebars as she pushed herself faster on the pedals. An empty-sky hadn't been in seen years. Opportunities to explore were sparse and she was not going to wait another ten years for a chance at clear skies again. Even if it might sicken her frail mother with worry. Marta had lost her father only a few months prior, scorched to the bone by a nasty fire-breather. Grief brought her mother to the brink of death, and there she teetered, leaving Marta to wake each day terrified she'd find her mother had finally crossed that hazy line.

Dragons had destroyed her family. She would return the favor someday. She would destroy the Wheel, damn those sinful creatures to the hell they emerged from.

Skidding to a stop, Marta planted her foot on the ground, chest heaving. Before her was the Wheel, a massive amalgamation of metals both common and precious melded between strong wood. It smelled faintly of pine, though there hadn't ever been pine trees in the Valley. Shrouded in the dim light of dusk, it was certainly formidable. It stood taller than any structure she had ever seen, taller, she swore, even than the husks of skyscrapers in the Old Cities.

Marta craned her neck, trying to make out the top of the Wheel. Magic must have brought it here. There could be no other explanation, though magic itself had been as easy to digest as the arrival of dragons, which was to say, not easy at all. She had grown accustomed to the exotic scent of magic ever-present in the air. It was an indescribable scent, trapped somewhere between woodsy and metallic. Beneath the Wheel, the aroma of magic was overpowering, a heady fragrance that choked her.

From her pocket, Marta pulled a ragged white cloth. Hastily she tied it around her mouth and nose, grateful for the reprieve, however minute. At the very least, she wouldn't pass out from magic intoxication. She hoped.

Leaving her bike on the rarely traveled dirt road, Marta pressed towards the base of the Wheel. A near-sentient haze wisped around her, whispering warnings. It only spurred her curiosity. This Wheel wasn't exactly like the Ferris wheels her father told her about, nor was it simply the wooden wheel of horse-drawn carriages. It was somewhere between, meant to roll across paved and rocky roads, meant to carry lovers high into the sky and show children a calm thrill.

The cart swinging nearest the ground was a pale yellow color, worn by wind and age. Sheltering the cart from sun and would-be rain was a faded umbrella. Holes peppered the fabric, leaving it threadbare. Marta wondered how long it had been since anyone had sat in the cart, or if it had ever seen people in it at all.

Deftly, she jumped into the cart. Nothing jumped out at her as she expected. In fact, the cart hardly moved at all. Perhaps it was too rusted. Or the Wheel refused to acknowledge her. Marta shuddered at the thought. Dragons terrorizing her were enough. She didn't need a sentient Wheel watching her.

Although, she had an inkling that's what it had always been doing. Watching, waiting. For what, she didn't know.

Marta scanned the other carts hanging silently in the darkening sky. Only one cart was different than the rest, one that hung almost at the highest point. Rather than open and sheltered by a pitiful piece of fabric, it was fully encased, a box of metal and glass. Magic emanated there so strong she swore she could see it in the boxcar, swirling like a cloud, fighting to get out. If she was going to find answers, they were sure to be there.

Moonlight filtered onto the metallic spokes as night set in, the faint lustrous light all she had to guide her. Marta kept her eyes glued to the boxcar as she scaled the metal spokes, trying not to think about how certain and swift her death would be if she slipped.

Sweat dripped down her face, plastering her hair to her forehead, stinging her eyes. World blurring with tears, Marta hugged tight to a spoke with one arm, using the other to dry her eyes on her sleeve. Mistakenly, she glanced at the ground. Her bike was but a speck. Nausea threatened to upend her dinner. Though the height left her head spinning, Marta pressed on.

Slowly, steadily, she inched her way upwards, pausing every few minutes to catch her breath. By the time she reached the enclosed car, she was aching and weak. Steadying her nervous breaths, she stepped from the safety of the spoke to the edge of the boxcar. It swung wildly. Marta squeezed her eyes shut, clinging desperately to the thin groove in the car.

After a moment, it slowed to a gentle sway. Marta pulled on the handle, pushing the door open. She collapsed to the metallic floor, chest heaving. Here, not even her meager cloth could keep out the stench of magic. Coughing, she swung the door a few times, hoping to air out the boxcar. Magic didn't work that way, it seemed.

Trying her best to ignore the heady scent of magic that had already sent a headache prickling at her temples, Marta stood, perusing the small car. There wasn't much in it. A leather journal sat discarded in the corner, several of its pages strewn across the floor, each marked with the initials IH. Though it was written in a language she couldn't read, what she could understand, were the drawings of dragons that marked each page. Every word and picture seemed so methodical, as if someone had been studying the dragons, and not just their behaviors or propensities. Anatomical sketches of hearts and entrails and other organs she couldn't begin to identify took up nearly half the pages. Marta clutched at her stomach. Had someone been dissecting dragons?

Unease snaked through her, permeating the air. Even the magic heavy in the boxcar seemed to quell, as if sensing the warning. Marta rushed to the door of the boxcar, throwing it open. In the distance, fire plumed in the sky. Wind picked up. The beat of massive wings thrummed in her ears. Palms sweating, Marta's gaze was glued to the swarm of approaching dragons. Panic squeezed her throat, clutched at her lungs.

Snapping free of her daze, Marta slid to her belly, ready to clamber down the spokes of the Wheel. Coming here was a mistake.

Her feet dangled outside of the car. Her stomach flipped. She felt a twinge of magic, a faint heartbeat so divergent from that of living creatures Marta wasn't sure it could be called a heartbeat. But it was undeniably a sign of life, coming from the Wheel.

Marta's heart thudded in her chest so hard she feared it might break her ribs. She pulled herself back inside the car, slamming the door shut just as the dragons reached her. They hissed, screamed smoke and fire, clawed at the windows with a screeching sound that left Marta's bones rattling.

The Wheel stood resolute. The magic around her coiled, and she wasn't sure if it was protecting her or itself from the dragons. Or if it was desperate to unite with them, but the Wheel forbid it. Marta shook her head. The Wheel couldn't possibly be living, be controlling magic. This was all a trick, a manifestation of her panicked mind.

But then the Wheel did the impossible. It turned.

Marta gasped, stumbling as the floor became ceiling and the ceiling the floor, turning it seemed, not just the whole Wheel but the carts themselves. Vomit crept up her throat.

When the turning stopped, Marta rolled onto her hands and knees, retching. Keeping her eyes shut, she let the tears roll down her cheeks, hot and heavy, let her fingers tremble. Silence blanketed the boxcar. Hesitantly, she cracked her eyes open. The dragons were gone. All was still. Quiet. It was almost unsettling.

Marta stood, legs unsteady. Her stomach dropped when she peered out the window. Blinding light succeeded the place of the moon, two golden suns facing each other in the blue sky. Beneath the Wheel was a sprawling town, bustling with people and creatures unlike anything she'd ever seen. Some walked on four legs, some had menacing horns twisting from their skulls. People with wings fluttered in the sky. The town was lively and warm, filled with laughter.

Closing and opening her eyes more times than she could count, Marta sagged against the wall of the boxcar. This wasn't a dream. This was real.

And the Valley was gone.

Fantasy
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About the Creator

Shannon Haffely

I'm a Duluth resident who loves hikes in the woods and to Lake Superior, where I get my best inspiration and writing done.

Proud to say I have earned a creative writing certificate from Wesleyan University!

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Outstanding

Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

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  1. Compelling and original writing

    Creative use of language & vocab

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