Glory Alley and the Star Riders (The Glory Alley Series)

by C. Deanna Verhoff

  “Go away,” she said timidly.

  They stood there in place not going away.

  “Whaddaya want?”

  “Ye be the Rock Collector—aye?”

  “I g-guess so.”

  “Don't be scared,” one of the men patted Glory’s knees through the covers. Glory yelped and scooted against the headboard. The man's voice crackled like paper. “We mean ye no harm.”

  “Give the Rock Collector some space,” one of them said. The three intruders stepped away from the bed, but continued to stare.

  Slowly, Glory pulled down the covers. “Wh-who are you? Wh-what do you want?”

  “Um...” The first one hesitated, holding up his empty palms to the second one, who stepped forward.

  “We be...we be...elves?” he said, glancing at his companions as if he needed confirmation as to what he was.

  “Aye.” The other two nodded vigorously.

  She looked them up and down. The toes of their shoes did not curl or jingle and looked more like army boots than elf attire. Glory chastised herself for considering their claim for even a second. Good grief, I’m too old for this. The fattest one's beard was longer than the others were. He had a white feather tucked into his hatband, so Glory dubbed him White Feather.

  They were lying about being elves, but remembering how they’d bitten the heads of squirrels, and the folklore about Wybbils dining on children, Glory didn’t feel up to challenging them on it. Better to play along until she figured out what to do. Fingers clutched the blanket tightly. She glanced over to Brandon who was snoring away. What a useless brother.

  Glory’s limbs trembled, but she couldn’t resist testing their claim of elfdom.

  "Are you the kind of elves that hang out with Father Winter?” Glory tried to maintain the air of innocence. “I'm asking because you sort of look like elves, but you’re much scarier than I’ve seen in pictures. Are you sure you’re elves?"

  “We be what we be,” said the self-proclaimed elf with the... was that a rib bone in his hatband?

  Glory swallowed hard, but it was difficult without saliva. “Uh, nice bone in your hat there. I’ve always thought elves were partial to cookies, not ribs.”

  The men stood there tight-lipped.

  “Are you the kind of elves that deliver presents to children on Father Winter's night?” she persisted.

  There was a short pause. White Feather said, “We like to check in on the boys and girls now and then to see if they’ve been bad or good.”

  In the off chance these were real elves, this was like hitting the jackpot. It couldn’t hurt to ask for a few things.

  “I would like a Sliver Gaming System with graphics capabilities and unlimited data access. I’d also like a Ross & Wesson jacket in lilac. I’d also like Maiden’s Revenge and Space Raiders, fourth edition. Now this wouldn’t be for just me, but for the whole family, a RECs would be awesome. And I know some kids complain about getting underwear, but not me. Would you like me to write down the sizes? Nevermind, just get me a gift card.”

  The list was longer, but Glory thought she better not sound too greedy. Her requests hung in the air an uncomfortably long time.

  The man with the shortest beard stared hard at her. He was the one with the silver spike tucked into his hatband, but it wasn’t glowing like it had the first night. The length and color reminded her of one of Nana's knitting needles. Glory named him Needle.

  Needle smiled, revealing red mottled gums and a row of pointed crooked teeth. Glory suppressed a gag.

  “Have ye been a good girl?” Needle asked.

  Clearing her throat, Glory informed them, “I've been very good.” Saying that made her feel childish and stupid, but what the heck.

  “Liar,” Bone said, spittle flying. “Ye've been very bad—snooping around Queen's Mesa and taking things that don’t belong to ye.”

  Glory grimaced. How’d they find out?

  Needle held up a pair of sturdy all-terrain sneakers.

  “My shoes!”

  “Yes,” Needle said, narrowing his eyes. “When ye were standing on the barn ladder I saw the bottom of your shoes. The soles are a perfect match with the footprints we saw at the caverns the day the Elboni went missing.”

  “Ah, when you said this is the soul. I thought you were talking about my spirit or something. It all makes sense now. You stole my shoes to match up the soles with the footprints near the cavern.”

  “Not stole—borrowed,” Needle said, letting the shoes in his hands drop on the floor.

  “Father Winter’s helpers are supposed to give things, not take them,” Glory said, trying to trip them up. “This is mighty odd behavior for elves.”

  “We GAVE you back the shoes,” Bone pointed to the pair on the floor. “Now give us back our Elboni.”

  Glory looked at their sharp teeth, and the long needle in Needle’s hatband, and the bone in Bone's hatband. Elves, my butt, Glory thought. But she wasn’t about to argue. These men were Wybbils only pretending to be elves—but why?

  “That hardly seems like a fair trade.”

  Glory gazed at their boots. Catch a Wybbil by the toe, rang through the halls of her head. It was time to make a move, but it was three against one. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled at the thought of a physical confrontation.

  “Queen's Mesa be private property,” said White Feather. “Didn’t ye see the sign?”

  “Well, yeah,” Glory’s voice was shaky. “But the best rocks are there.”

  “Indeed,” Bone replied, his brow furrowing. “The greatest rock of all resides there—at least it did until you stole it.” Bone took a menacing step toward the bed, hands raised.

  Glory cried out, thinking he was going to strangle her. Needle stepped in front of his angry companion and Bone backed off.

  “Rock Collector,” Needle said softly. “A very special thing be missing from Queen’s Mesa and we have been sent here to retrieve it.”

  “I don’t know anything about a special thing.”

  “Quit playing games, Tullahn,” Bone said, his pink face turning red. “We know ye took the Elboni Stone so tell us what you did with it.”

  “Elboni Stone?” Glory played dumb. “Never heard of it. What does it look like?”

  “It looks perfect,” White Feather said. “Even a Tullahn could recognize that much.”

  “Hmm,” Glory stalled, glancing down at their boots, wondering if she should dare. “I’m trying to remember. Hundreds of stones passed through my hands that day, but nothing really stands out.”

  “Think hard,” Needled pleaded. “It’s very important.”

  “Hmmm,” Glory tapped her chin. “I did take a few from the cavern that day.”

  “Where be these rocks now?”

  “I can’t remember where I put all of them. But some are out in the garden.”

  "We checked the garden, fields, barn and house. Where else should we be looking?"

  "I threw some into the stream."

  Bone’s eyes widened, his mouth fell open. “What!”

  “Quiet,” White Feather admonished.

  “Who ye be telling to be quiet!” Bone gave White Feather a push, which quickly turned into a shoving match and ended just as fast.

  As Glory watched their large feet scuffing over the floor, the words continued to play through her head like a nursery rhyme. Catch a Wybbil by the toe and he has to give me whatever I want.

  “Tell us,” Needle said. “The stones ye be throwing into the stream, what did they look like?”

  “They were flat and made superb skipping stones.”

  “Where else did you drop them?”

  “I dropped some in the cavern to lighten my load when the Hoogula was chasing me.”

  “His proper name is Budd,” Needle informed.

  “You got to be kidding?”

  “It’s short for Big Ugly Devil Dog.”

  “Well, that makes sense, and do you mind telling me what he’s doing there at the bottom of the mes
a?”

  “Budd be one of the few creatures in the universe that doesn’t need a special key to travel from world to world. His home be on the darkest side of the Elboni, a place next to the WEIN in the spectrum. Budd has a special knack for sniffing out trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Other worlds finding the magic be trouble to a Hoogula.”

  “Enough about Budd,” Bone said. “We have a lead. The Elboni may still be in the cavern.” He suddenly reached out to squeeze Glory’s arm, sending heat through her puppy pajamas.

  “Ow!” Glory cried out. “You burned me!”

  “Barely, and on accident, now where in the cavern did ye drop the stones?”

  “I dropped them in a tunnel. A dark one.”

  Needle rolled his dark button eyes. “Could ye be more specific?”

  A rooster crowed. The “elves” turned toward the window. A dim light arced over the horizon. White Feather took his white feather from his hat and drew an oval in the air near Glory’s wall.

  “Issatti,” White Feather said. A dazzling blue light appeared inside the perimeter of his drawing, glittering like starlight on the drifting sea.

  Heart thumping, in a spontaneous decision, she flung herself to the floor at the Wybbils’ feet, wrapping her arms around the nearest leg.

  “Crimeney!” Bone said in surprise, trying to move toward the oval White Feather had just drawn in the air. “Get off me ye dirty Tullahn!”

  Glory reached for the toes of the Wybbil’s left boot. Bone limped around the room, dragging her behind him. “Let go!”

  “I got you by the toe, so now you have to give me what I want! Make me rich!”

  Unconcerned by Glory’s attack, White Feather scratched his nasty beard. “I think she’s trying to bind ye.”

  “Ye silly creature,” Bone hollered. “It’s not the toe that matters in a binding, but what’s under hand. Now let go.”

  “Not until you make me rich,” Glory repeated.

  “Horrid Tullahns,” White Feather muttered as he pried Glory’s fingers off from around Bone’s leg. “Elves don’t have that kind of magic.”

  “But Wybbils do,” Glory said.

  “Crimeny,” Bone said. “She’s onto us.”

  “So it seems,” White Feather said thoughtfully. “Since ye know so much about us, then ye ought to know Wybbils can’t be bound just any old way. Our power comes from the Elboni, and in order for us to draw it out, the person making the request must first meet the eight conditions of the binding ritual. Ye haven’t met a one. And, even if ye had, something like make me rich is too vague. Wealth be measured in so many ways.”

  “In that case, I mean give me a never-ending supply of credits.” She squeezed her hands together, giving a sheepish grin. “So, can ye do it? Can you? Uh, please.”

  “Ye are not listening,” White Feather complained. “The binding ritual be very specific. You haven’t met the conditions.”

  “Conditions? What are they?”

  “Only us Wybbils know,” White Feather said.

  “And even if we wanted to,” Needle added, “we’re not allowed to reveal them.”

  “Why not?”

  “Open the power to one Tullahn,” Bone said. “And it can never be put back again.”

  “Now step away,” White Feather said. He placed a fat sausage finger between Glory’s eyes and gave a push, making her fall backwards into the bed with very little effort. If it came to a physical confrontation, she didn’t have a prayer.

  The light within the oval was slowly fading. White Feather stepped in front of it, but paused to look at Glory. His red brow wrinkled as an index finger raised and jabbed at Glory.

  "If no Elboni be found in the caverns after a second search, things shall get most unpleasant.”

  The Wybbils walked through the magical oval and the wall became solid again.

  Glory stared at the wall unable to pull her eyes away, barely able to move, and squeaked out. “Most unpleasant?” Gulp.

  Chapter 13

  In the past, talk of intruders with magic feathers brought nothing but trouble, so she kept mum about the latest encounter. After breakfast, Grandpa suggested a game of Treasure Quest.

  “I’m in,” she said enthusiastically.

  “After your chores,” Dad interrupted.

  “Bummer.”

  She spent the next two hours out in the yard heaving shovels full of wet chicken manure into a wheelbarrow. Her hair was pulled back in a thick braid, but sweat poured down her neck anyway. She wheeled it behind the barn, flinging it with her shovel on top of Mount-O-Crap, as she liked to call it.

  Using the back of her forearm to wipe her brow, she felt like a part of Mount-O-Crap itself—wet, smelly, unappreciated, and just waiting around to become fertilizer.

  By the time she was finished, Grandpa was already outside on the front porch snoozing in his wheelchair. Chin resting on his chest, wooden game board set up over a barrel in front of him, she smiled at his eagerness. She went in to take a fast shower. Grandpa hadn’t even stirred by the time she returned to the front porch.

  The name on the board game was printed at the top. Treasure Quest: Seek, Find, Persist, Conquer.

  “Grandpa?” Glory gently shook his shoulder. “Do ya still want to play?”

  “Rose?” The old man asked with a yawn.

  “No, it’s me, Glory.”

  “Must have been dreaming,” Grandpa said. “Not only do you look like your mother, but sound like her too.”

  Glory liked it when people compared her to Mom. She smiled. Grandpa straightened his hunting cap.

  “Ready to get your tail whipped?”

  “Nope. Are you?”

  “Those are fightin’ words.” Grandpa sputtered with laughter as he hunched over the game board and began arranging his pieces. “Your mother never came close to beating me, but that didn’t stop her from trying.”

  It had taken a while to get used to Grandpa when he had first moved in, but the man was a mean Treasure Quest player. So was Glory. They had grown close over the last hundred games or so. Taking a seat in the metal chair opposite Grandpa, Glory arranged twelve knights on the diamond spaces at the battlefront. She placed the sorceress and three golden keys on the squares. At the back of the board, in the lair, she protected her treasure chest between the dragon and three goblins. Grandpa set up his own side in similar fashion.

  The game began as a battle between knights vying for their opponent’s keys, which were needed to open the door to the dragon's lair. Once inside the lair, the knights fought the goblins whose movements were limited to squares. The dragon was powerful. He could move on diamonds and squares. The sorceress, however, if she survived the battle, could utter spells, freezing the dragon for a turn. The game was won when a knight made it to the treasure chest with a viable key. The game was lost when a player lost all of his keys or knights to an opponent.

  Grandpa and Glory had knights in each other's lairs and were down to their dragons and a couple of goblins when the rest of the Alley boys came in from the field, where they had been repairing a barbed wire fence. Brandon and Danny went into the house, but Randy stopped to hover over Glory’s shoulder.

  “How can you stand to play with her, Grandpa?” Randy asked. “It takes her a year to make a move and the game goes on and on forever.”

  “When’s the last time you beat your little sister at Treasure Quest?” Grandpa asked without looking up from the game.

  “I quit playing with her, not because she was better than me, but because she’s so slow.”

  “Sure, ya did,” Grandpa said with a knowing wink. “If Glory thinks slow, it’s only because her mind is deep and it takes a long time for her thoughts to go down and back up again.”

  “I dunno, Grandpa, I think she’s just stupid.”

  Randy dodged Glory’s flying fist.

  “Like I said,” Randy teased. “Glory’s slow!”

  “Quit flapping your jaws, kid, y
ou’re ruining my concentration,” Grandpa told Randy. “Scram.”

  Randy humphed and went inside. The game resumed and Grandpa promptly killed Glory’s last goblin and took it from the board. Without glancing in her direction, he said, “I see that the bums gave you your shoes back.”

  This was an unexpected shift in conversation.

  Glory looked down at her all-terrain hikers afraid that acknowledging the latest encounter would only lead to trouble. She gave a small shrug without meeting Grandpa’s eyes.

  “So, they’re still coming around?” Grandpa pressed. “Do you know why?”

  Glory gave a reluctant nod.

  The old man raised a bushy eyebrow. “And?”

  “They said they’re elves and they’ve lost the Elboni,” she mumbled.

  Grandpa cupped an ear. “What’d you say?”

  Glory shouted: “They said they’re elves and they’re looking for their Elboni!”

  “Elboni, you say.” Grandpa stroked the wiry gray stubble on his chin. “If they're talking Elboni, those aren’t elves. We got ourselves a case of the Wybbils.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Glory said, shoulders drooping, feeling tired all of a sudden.

  “Good. Then you know how serious a problem this is. Your Nana and I had a run-in with Wybbils when we were kids playing in Queen’s Mesa and they’re not to be trifled with. Same with the devil-dog you’ve been prattling on and on about.”

  So did this mean Grandpa actually believed her story? Relief nipped at the edges of the anxiety she’d been feeling. Suddenly it occurred to her that Grandpa and Nana had known all along that she’d been telling the truth, even when Dad and her siblings had given her a rough time.

  “You and Nana knew I was telling the truth all along but didn’t say anything—what kind of grandparents are you anyway?”

  “The smart kind.” Grandpa tapped his temple with a hairy finger. “You don’t think we’d go advertising about believing in Wybbils, do you? No one believed us when we were kids, and they sure won’t now. They’d say we’ve gone senile and send us off to the Land of the Living Dead.”