“Yes,” Glory said between clenched teeth. Fingers splayed she made a move toward Clash. “I feel the urge to take off my right sock and strangle you with it!”
“Whoa there, Glo.” Clash was shorter and weighed less than Glory. She could easily take him down. He wisely backed away a step, holding up the fishing pole like a sword. “I know it’s the Cold Crazies talking, so I forgive you, but if you take another step forward, I’ll whip you with this thing.”
“This conversation tires me,” Glory said, feeling all weird and tingly inside her chest.
The rock.
Maybe she ought to let Clash see it, proving everything.
But what if it failed to spark again? Unable to bear it if her best friend doubted its magic, she lost the nerve. “Stay away from the mesa.” Glory ran backward a little ways. “Sorry about everything.” With that, she darted into the trees.
“You’re not well!” He cupped a hand to his mouth, calling after her. “At least let me walk you home!”
“Don’t follow me.”
“But...”
Her friend’s voice echoed through the old trees, calling her name, and after a while sounded no more.
The unseasonable warm air caught a nip as the sun disappeared behind the clouds. Glory ran deep into a thicket, over a creek, and into a small clearing. Ditching Clash like that made her feel bad, but the need to be alone with her new find took precedence.
Her fingers were still frozen tight around the flashlight. After peeling them away, she crouched on the ground next to her backpack. What if the rock had been a figment of her imagination? If the mystical experience turned out to be the work of the cold crazies, she’d feel relieved—yes? On second thought— no.
Slowly she opened the zipper.
And there, nestled among the coils of rope, was the magnificent stone.
Glory dropped to her knees. She licked her lips and braced for another light show, but when she pulled it out of the bag there was no explosion, no pleasure or pain, not even a single spark.
Tension drained, yet she felt crushed at the same time. Easing herself into a seated position, she set the stone in her lap, resting one palm on its cool surface. What if its powers only worked only at certain times?
“What are you?” she asked the stone.
At first glance, the rock’s surface had an onyx hue. Under the dim sunlight, more colors emerged. Depending on how the thing was rotated, blacks, grays and blues merged and separated from one another.
Indigo was its true color, she decided. It had a silky feel, yet seemed hard as metal. Fancying herself a budding geologist, Glory held the rock to eye level and got out a magnifying glass.
First guess was that it was slate, but that was ruled out quickly. No visible crystals. No visible grains or veins. Her tongue flicked from one corner of her mouth to the other as her brain worked. The rock was made of lightweight material. Could it be lava rock? Maybe, there’s no bubbles, but sometimes lava rock doesn’t have any. She rubbed it with sandpaper from the bag. No particles came loose. Could it be marble? No, too light.
Is it hollow? She rapped on it with knuckles, but it gave a solid thud. Weird, but no matter, she thought, some mysteries aren’t meant to be solved right away.
Chapter 4
Glory hurried through the woods as fast as her sore ankle allowed. A sagging section of barbed wire fence marked the Alley property line. After a few minutes, the trees met cleared ground. Across a field of winter wheat she went until a red barn loomed dead ahead.
“Home at last.”
She swung open heavy double doors and stepped inside. The sweet smell of fresh hay wafted to her nose. Even in the day, the barn was full of shadows. With a flick of the switch, the overhead lights buzzed to life. The exposed rafters, darkened with time, spoke of ages past. The empty horse stalls were prime spots to catch a nap or read a book. Old lanterns, sickles, pitchforks, and shovels hung on nails and pegs. Her eyes traveled up the steep loft ladder to the dark space above where she normally stashed her spelunking gear.
Her mind went back to her miner’s hat on the forest floor. She was already regretting her hasty decision to throw it away. Not that she would ever need it again. Still, the hat had been with her a long time, had protected her well, so it seemed somehow wrong to cast it aside like that. Sigh. She climbed into the loft without it.
The wooden crates there, once used for transporting eggs, served as secret storage. She dropped the backpack into an empty crate, thinking about its contents. Should I?
Glory wanted to see the indigo stone one more time, but there were chores to do. She buried it under a pile of burlap sacks and plastic tarps. On top of that, she placed a couple of bricks, plus a spare flashlight and extra batteries. For good measure, she placed another tarp over everything and sprinkled straw over the top.
Down the ladder Glory went, to the feed barrel, where she filled cans with grain. Outside Dad had fashioned a ten-foot tall run from spare lumber. It was completely surrounded by chicken wire, giving the hens and roosters access from the coop to the outdoors. Inside the run, chickens were safe from winged predators and creatures on four feet. As she worked, just thinking about the stone made her feel woozy and dreamy.
Glory opened the gate and tossed feed around the ground. She carried several buckets of water back and forth from the pump to the metal trough inside the run. She latched the gate behind her before returning the buckets to the barn. Flicking the lights off on the way out, she headed across the barnyard to the house.
The only person there to greet her was George.
“Gwo-wee, hi,” he said. “Hungry.”
“Me too.”
She led him down the hall by the hand. While other families were probably lying around after an afternoon of gorging on leftovers from their feasts, the Alley kitchen was spotless. Covered in rock dust, she washed her hands at the sink, and then used a wet paper towel to wipe her face.
“Let’s see what we got.” She opened the kitchen door while George peered around her legs sucking his thumb. Rifling through shelves she was pleasantly surprised to see that more food survived than expected. Some meat had gotten pushed to the back so everybody had missed it.
“Hey, hey, hey. Georgee Poo,” she said happily. “We’re gonna eat good.” She rearranged the vegetable platter to spy something crusty. “Oooo,” she cooed. “Apple pie. It’s squashed, but that doesn’t bother us—does it?”
“Nooo.”
Glory laughed. Her eyes fell on a bowl of scalloped potatoes. “Looks like we’re going to feast afterall.”
They sat at the table, just the two of them, gobbling buttery drumsticks, savoring sweet apple filling, comforted by smooth silky potatoes. A full stomach calmed nerves better than anything else could. She stretched and groaned. “I hurt all over, George.”
“Boo boo?” George said pointing to her face.
Glory felt her forehead, realizing she must be scratched and filthy.
“I’m okay,” she said, knowing it wasn’t true. Nothing was okay, but she didn’t know why. Quit being so dramatic, she chastised herself. Just play along like everything is normal until something abnormal happens.
The phone buzzed.
“Hello,” Glory answered.
“Is this Glory?”
“Last time I checked.”
She recognized Clash’s voice on the other end.
“Don’t be a butt. Just making sure you made it home.”
“I did.”
“We cool?”
“Yep.”
“Good,” Clash said. “A new episode of Galactic Heroes is on. Gotta go. See ya.”
“Bye.”
Glory hung up thinking Clash must have been really worried about her to call during Galactic Heroes. At least one person still cared. Mom used to care enough for everybody. After her death, none of the Alleys took up the slack, especially where George was concerned. The poor kid was practically an orphan.
“Hey, George, to
morrow I’m going on my annual trip to wish Mom a happy birthday. Wanna come along?”
He nodded enthusiastically, just as she expected.
Late the next morning, Glory bundled her little brother in an old plaid jacket. She pulled a white and red knit stocking cap over his ears. Polka dot mittens covered his dimpled baby hands, but the sun had managed push out one more warm day before the winter winds blew in from the west, so she let him take them off.
First stop was the barn.
“Wait here while I get Mom’s present,” she ordered.
A few minutes later, she emerged from the barn and the two of them headed out over the grassy yard toward the field. The sun shined hot despite the cool breeze. She unbuttoned her coat.
“Itchy,” George said, yanking off his hat. Glory promptly pulled it back over his head. His little legs had trouble navigating over the dirt clods, so she carried him on her back across the clumpy field.
“I’m sweating like a work horse,” she said, finally setting him down with her backpack at the edge of the woods.
“George, can you keep a secret?”
Still sucking his thumb, he nodded.
“Good, because do I have something to show you.”
Her hands shook as she unzipped the pack and reached for the rock. Nonetheless, she held it up to the sunlight. This time its smooth indigo surface shimmered with a rainbow sheen.
George’s thumb fell out of his mouth.
“BOOOO-tiful!” he clapped.
Of all the people on Tullah Glory could count on George to share her appreciation for something so beautiful. His little hand reached for it, but remembering how it exploded on first contact, she lofted it higher.
“Sorry, look but don’t touch. It’s for Mom.”
“Mom?” George said with a blank stare. Glory sighed, realizing the word held little meaning for him.
Glory put the stone away, took George’s hand in hers, and resumed walking. Normally the journey took under an hour, but it was slow going with George along. They went through the woods, and she carried him across the creek, over the stepping stones. Up the big hill, they puffed until the black iron fence came into view.
“This is where our mother is buried,” she announced. Glory felt duty bound to teach George about Mom. “She loved us, you know. I cried a lot after she died. But Grandpa Kracker explained it to me like this: All life comes from the dust and stones of Tullah. So death is like going home. This means Mom isn’t really gone, because she dwells all around us in the dust, in the wind, and under our feet in the very stones of Tullah itself.” She stamped a foot for emphasis.
“Do you understand, George?”
He lifted both arms and twirled in place. “Around and around,” he said between giggles.
Yes, Glory decided, George understood.
As they approached mother’s grave, she stopped in her tracks and frowned. Eyes narrowed to slits. The heart she’d built was gone.
“I hate that man,” Glory hissed, thinking she’d like to punch the groundskeeper right between the eyes. “Someday, George,” she vowed. “I’m going to buy Mom the grandest monument you’ll ever see.”
For a moment, she considered topping her next homemade monument with the indigo rock, but that was a dumb idea. The groundskeeper would remove it or somebody would steal it. So better stick to the original plan, which meant burying this new treasure along with her other best finds over Mom’s gravesite.
Glory removed the rock, a paintbrush and a couple of tubes of paint pens from the bag.
“What’s dat’?” George squatted beside her.
“Every year on Mom’s birthday I come here to give her a gift. It’s sort of like a birthday card and a present all in one.” She winked. “Good thing these paint pens are quick dry.” After a few minutes of writing X’s and O’s, and a few choice words, she concluded with—Love, Glory.
“What do you think, George?” she said proudly.
Pulling a thumb out of his mouth, he said, “BOOOtiful.” Then promptly began sucking again.
“Mom,” she said. “I’ve never seen a rock like this before, and I’m pretty sure it’s not a precious metal or gem, probably not worth a lot, but it’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever found. I want you to have it on the condition that if it turns out to be really valuable I can take it back. I’m sure that’s what you’d want me to do—to help the family. Right?” Quiet fell across the cemetery. Glory listened to the wind half-expecting Mom to answer. She didn’t.
“Thanks, Mom, I knew you’d understand.”
Glory took a potting shovel out of the bag and began to dig, while George skipped around her singing in a language only he understood. They stayed at the grave longer than intended. She chatted to Mom about her hopes and dreams, wishing her a happy birthday. The sun began to sink below the line of the trees. The breeze took on a chill.
“Me cold,” George said.
Time to go. She gave an encouraging smile before hoisting George onto her back.
“When we get home, I’ll warm us up some nog, and we’ll eat more pie? How does that sound?”
“Yum!” he replied.
Her legs carried them over the narrow trail that wound through densely spaced trees. Gray clouds hid the setting sun. Birds sang as the shadows of the forest deepened. An hour passed before they came to the same spot of sagging barbed wire she had crossed over on Harvest Day—when the sound of low mutterings made her stop.
Her brothers, Randy and Danny, were supposed to come home from opportunity school for the holiday. They had always loved the woods because it hid their mischief. If anybody was out here, it had to be them, and they were probably doing something illegal.
If she could uncover whatever her brothers were scheming, the information might come in handy for blackmailing purposes. Setting George down on a fallen tree trunk, she held a finger over his lips. “Be very quiet. Stay right here.”
Curious, she inched closer to the conversation. The sound of gritty male voices got louder. They didn’t sound like any of her brothers. She glanced back at George, who was fiddling with a twig, looking bored. Then she turned her attention back to the conversation that was taking place up ahead.
“One more,” said an unfamiliar voice, “then we continue the search.”
“Aye,” another voice replied.
Probably a couple of bums, Glory thought, just passing through. She crept, carefully parting branches until coming to the edge of a small clearing. Three short guys sat side-by-side on a log. They wore capes that fluttered in the breeze. Didn’t people stop wearing capes centuries ago? They were wearing old gangster style hats and heavy muddy boots. Someone get the fashion police pronto. The shadows of the forest muted the smaller details though. The threesome might as well be talking shadows for the little she could make out.
“It can’t be far, lest Wybb would have no power at all,” the first bum said.
“A reasonable assumption,” said the bum in the middle. “But so far there be nothing reasonable about this mission. How could someone or something simply pick it up and walk away without a trace? That’s not supposed to happen.”
The three bums talked with strange accents. Glory squinted, wanting to see more of them, but everything was lost in black and gray.
“No use dwelling on it,” the first bum said, “It be gone, and as soldiers of the Elboni, our duty be to find it.”
“But the magic be everywhere,” the third bum whined. “We have searched for days. Pinpointing its source has proved impossible.”
Clearly, the bums had lost something important, something…did they say magical? Sure, she thought with a smirk, magical like a drunken hallucination.
“Searching this miserable indigo world will take forever,” the first bum complained. “But Wybb doesn’t have that long.”
“The trail be cold, but take heart. We know the thief came through here.” replied the first bum. “Find the shoes that match the prints we will find the Elboni.”
The bums stopped talking to eat. By the way they held their food she guessed hotdogs were on the menu. As they raised the hotdogs to their mouths, the hotdogs began to struggle, squeal, and flick their bushy tails. Glory’s eyes popped.
Those weren’t hotdogs!
She watched in horror as a bum bit the head off a cute, furry squirrel. Crack, snap, pop went the bones as he chewed.
Glory’s hand shot to her gagging mouth. Backing away from the scene on her toes, she prayed the bums wouldn’t hear her leave. Who knows what freaks like that might do?
Not wanting to alarm George, she returned to him wearing a fake smile.
“Hey George,” she whispered. “Let’s play a game. Whoever talks first…” She swallowed the urge to simply pick him up and dash off through the forest. “…loses.”
“George likes games!” he replied enthusiastically causing Glory to cringe. She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder, but no bums appeared on the scene.
“The game starts now,” she said lowly. “So shush yourself.”
Glory knelt down on one knee, while George wrapped thin arms around her neck and climbed on her back. She immediately darted through the forest, over the stubbly fields, not stopping until home.
Chapter 5
Safe at home with a belly full of biscuits and pie, Glory sat on her bed in a pair of pink puppy dog pajamas. She couldn’t get the stone out of mind and had second thoughts about burying it. Then again, nobody would ever find it there. Must do some research.
A minute later, she sat on the edge of the bed sifting through a shoebox full of polished stones. Holding one up to the lamp, she turned it this way and that.
Opaque white, no doubt quartz, she thought. The stone looked nothing like the indigo rock. She returned the box to its designated place underneath the bed, and then pulled out another one full of glass-like stones in soft pinks, whites and yellows. Not even these caltites could compare in smoothness. The pink and tan feldspars looked like ugly step sisters compared to the rock she had found today. She passed them over and continued to rummage through her collection until something thumped her on the rump. Without looking up, she knew it was Brandon’s foot.
Glory Alley and the Star Riders (The Glory Alley Series) Page 4