The Questory of Root Karbunkulus - Quill

by Kamilla Reid

  At a table in the middle Tamik sat with her

  team. Kor was completely ignoring her while monopolizing the attention of everyone else and though she seemed more than fine with that, it just wasn’t fair. Root had wanted Tamik to sit with her but that would mean ousting someone else. And somehow she couldn’t bring herself to do that to poor Milden. Milden whom she could feel staring at her again. With that goofy smile that made her feel awkward. She knew she was going to have to say something soon. He had now taken to leaving her messages in the snow and it was starting to get embarrassing. One day he even leapt past her to save her from a Frostbug and ended up freezing his entire arm. It took three days for the frost to come out and the whole time he wore his arm in a sling that had hearts all over it. It was getting seriously out of hand.

  It’s not like she didn’t like Milden. She just didn’t Like Like Milden. Like Like was a very strong word….er, words. When one really thought about it, Like Like was only one notch down from the other ‘L’ word and so it should be given a fair amount of consideration. Labels helped.

  Dwyn, for example was a light Like Liker. The word ‘player’ came to mind. Or, as he put it, C.C, as in Chick Capitalist. (barf.) His net was cast wide and often. Not that there was anything wrong with that. There were certainly enough fish flopping after him. And it wasn’t as bad as Lian, who was classic A.L.L. Anti-Like Liker. Lian kept the guide warnings of interrelations loud and clear. And conveniently underlined and posted on his wall. Although Tamik seemed to be challenging that at all corners. Hee hee.

  Root was more of a HOFTROLL. A Holding Out For The Right One Like Liker. A hot guy. A walk the talk hot guy. A happy walk the talk hot guy. With a fully operational funny bone. And a head on his shoulders…a dark haired, dreamy eyed head…on his broad, shoulders…the ones that are connected to those awesome arm muscles…and that beautiful tanned…er…pectoralis…

  Without warning an image came to Root. An image of deep, lingering eyes and a knock-you-over smile. Cloak guy? She shook the image off suddenly shocked and ridiculously flustered.

  “You okay?” Dwyn asked.

  “Yeah, fine. Why?”

  “Your cheeks’re all red.”

  “Oh, really? It must just be the uh…I’m just a little hot is all.”

  “Well, y’might wanna take off that big ol’ sweater then.”

  Whatever. Just turn around and get back to your…whatever it was he was doing. Root tried to compose herself, catch her breath. Cloak guy?…as if…

  The room seemed to be stuck in the Studaben Picklepug Dead Zone.

  “…the winners of the Second Magisterial Treasure Quest of DréAmm! Five teams have made it through to the next Quest number three! But first….blah blah blabbering on blah…”

  “Man, it is so cruel how he does that!” Root said as everyone released their breath. “It’s not like we all don’t know this time! I mean, it’s pretty obvious who got the HaloEm Quills.”

  “Yeah, but y’gotta admit, it’s pretty fun doing it this way…making it all official and fancy and all.” Dwyn smiled.

  “I guess so. I just wish he’d get on with it.”

  “Jorab!” Picklepug announced at last.

  “’Bout time!” Lian said sitting up.

  Jorab took the stairs from his table in the giant Fire Blossom and approached the podium. “Thank you and welcome! You honour us by your presence on this historic evening. Unfortunately, I am not here to announce the winners.” A few dejected sighs broke free. “But to pay tribute to the loss of a dear friend,” he paused, “Master Ernest Skubblenob.”

  Root choked on her drink. The Valadors went pale. They looked at Jorab, praying they’d heard him wrong.

  They hadn’t.

  “As you well know, Master Skubblenob had spent nearly the whole of his life in the trenches of Invention. And though his was a slow and often frustrating process, he did not once raise his hands in defeat. When I asked him if he would find interest in guiding a team, he was elated beyond measure. He set to work immediately upon a creation that would aid his charges in the journey to come. It was a rugged contraption, made so in the face of limited investment, with only the scraps of his previous enterprises. The result was the Skubblenob Tempometre, of which many of you witnessed on the evening of departure.”

  A few snickers tossed about the room, trumped by a distinct humph from Hyvis Punyun.

  “Yes, it was crude in its making, becoming the source of much frustration and the eventual departure of his team…”

  Root sunk low in her chair. Dwyn and Lian were already almost on the floor.

  “Master Skubblenob was beside himself with worry over their well-being. He wandered the land in despair, vowing to create an invention that would instantly manifest….of all things, groceries.” This Jorab said directly to the Valadors with a raised eyebrow. “But, as is the way of fate, his despair found release at last.”

  The room went silent. Root felt her eyes stinging.

  “At long last his genius was discovered by the Masters themselves, the renowned ones known as…the Ekladians!”

  What?

  Jorab’s eyes twinkled. “They had come upon his Tempometre by way of his team and immediately recognized the talent. When they discovered that he was its inventor, he was taken into their fold with welcome hearts. They were saddened to learn that he had lost the other half of the Tempometre but overjoyed at what had been gained. A Master Inventor. And so, where Perderly lost a dear friend, the very masters he adored have gained him, Ernest Skubblenob, who this very minute is enjoying his new position as Deputy Inventor of the renowned Ekladian Caravan! To his team he sends this special message.” Jorab cleared his throat. He lifted a glass. “Galupid!”

  “Galupid!” The Valadors cheered and raised their own glasses. The audience joined them with delighted clinks and applause. One of their own. Ernest Skubblenob. Who’da thunk it? With the Ekladians, no less. Root caught Jorab’s wink and nodded in relief and joy. Dwyn and Lian rose from their seats. The entire room followed suit.

  “And now! The moment we have been waiting for!” The Guardian had already reclaimed his space behind the podium. “It is with the greatest pleasure and thrill that I will now announce the winners of the Second Magisterial Treasure Quest of DréAmm!”

  With each team name came an explosion of cheers.

  “Mekruzela! The Blue Knights! The Pinks! Kor’s Kings! And last but indeed not least, the Valadors!”

  A fitting tribute was given to the Chernbrights who sat at the same table as the Blue Knights. They accepted the Guardian’s words with a mixture of feelings, the majority of which came without regret. It had been an amazing adventure!

  Hilly Punyun snatched centre stage as the Imaginates flashed. Her mother sidled up to her, adding a tag team encore to their well-rehearsed act. But the attention soon shifted as the Valadors stepped forward upon the Guardian’s prodding.

  “That’s the girl who was gifted by the last HaloEm!”

  Flash! Pwuff! Flash!

  The media frenzy was entirely expected, having already been ignited when a picture of Root’s Gifting was anonymously sent through the Messenger System. But still, Root didn’t think it’d be this bad. That is until Studaben Picklepug clasped her hand and raised it with his in the air.

  Pwuff! Flash!

  Root yanked her hand down. Picklepug simply heehaw-ed his donkey lips and posed for more. Root could barely keep her eyes open for the strobing of light. Even Dwyn was uncomfortable in the attention.

  Though not nearly as uncomfortable as the Punyuns, who were watching it all with shiny daggers in their eyes.

  Once again Jorab brought about calm as he cued Elgart’s army of apron-ed vegetation to kindly escort the media off the property. Hoskins, the staircase was assigned to any resistant parties and made well of its authority, especially with a particularly aggressive reporter who wanted an exclusive interview with Root. Hoskins conveyed him along, well past the castle courtyard;
dropping him off at the edge of Mirror Lake.

  “And now! Let the festivities begin!” whooped Studaben Picklepug. “Let’s give a warm DréAmm welcome to the incredible Miss Wiggs!”

  “Miss Wiggs!” Tamik shouted and leapt up. She was the first to reach the stage, where a young woman stepped out from an explosion of red smoke. Her bright red hair was piled up so high it looked like an Olympic torch, even seemed to snap and crackle like one.

  “Watch this!” Tamik yelled over the music to Root as she arrived. “She can Duplicate…wait for it…wait for it…Now!”

  Root watched as Miss Wiggs suddenly added two more of herself on the stage making her a green, blue and red trio in three-part harmony.

  The garden court of the House of Gub filled with screaming fans, colored Fire Blossoms and a misted dance floor, spilling with feet. Root let Tamik pull her out with the others and soon found herself laughing breathlessly in the thump of the music. Dwyn tried to show off his Ekladian moves but Root and Tamik put a swift end to that by way of a Golden Wedgie. After that, they dodged him in the crowd and headed for the punch.

  Miss Wiggs doubled the duplication. Now six of her, red, green, blue, yellow, orange and pink were belting out over the band. The fans edging the stage screamed even louder. Tamik sang along with a Eucalyptus plant that was tending the service bar. It slipped both her and Root double Chuck’s on ice.

  They found Lian, who was sitting awkwardly in a chair.

  “You dance, Blick?” Tamik asked.

  “Not on your life.” He said sucking on a straw.

  “Fine. Suit yourself.” She ran into the mob with a sustained scream that gave Miss Wiggs a run for her money. Dwyn found her and together they somehow managed to link up the entire dance floor and lead it around the room like a train.

  “I was thinking.” Lian said.

  “What? You think?” Root teased.

  “Remember when we first set out and Skubblenob’s Tempometre led us to that stupid vine covered wall?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, it just dawned on me that that wall was swarming with aphids.”

  “Uh huh…”

  “And, if you remember what Milwart Ibbbs had said…” he looked expectantly at Root. “What eats aphids?”

  She stared blankly back at him. “Uh…Aphid eaters?”

  “No! HaloEm! HaloEm eat aphids! And they also prefer to sleep in caves. Which is the second place the Tempometre took us.”

  “Oh my goodness! It did work!”

  “I think it had picked up CPR’s…”

  “Skyy’s.”

  “What?”

  “That’s her name now. Skyy. With two y’s.”

  “Oh. Well, I think that crazy contraption of his had picked up her trail and taken us all the way…”

  “To the Swamps! Where she had been caught!”

  “Yup.”

  “And that’s why it stayed hot! She was with us then!”

  “Yup.”

  “Then no wonder Festa wanted it. It really did work. I thought he just thought it showed promise is all.”

  “Yeah, me too. I guess we owe Skubblenob an apology.”

  “C’mon, losers!” Dwyn grabbed Root.

  Tamik grabbed Lian who tried to squirm away. “Don’t fight it, Blick or you’ll make it worse for yourself. I’ve got a One Eyed Sour-Ribb and I’m not afraid to use it!” Lian looked at her. And to the amazement of all, laughed. He relinquished himself into the doesn’t-take-no-for-an-answer clutches of his friend and, though his dance moves were on the rusty side, if not the altogether non-existent side, he kept up a shy smile.

  And it did not fade for the rest of the night.

  The birds of dawn were beginning to wake and busy themselves in the garden court as the last of the partiers sat in quiet huddles around fire bombs. Miss Wiggs, all twelve of her had long since gone, but not without a vow to return.

  Root and Tamik were singing in rounds. They assumed Lian and Dwyn had gone to bed because they hadn’t seen them in ages. But as Dwyn approached with a most mischievous smile, it was clear he hadn’t even gone near a pillow. He put a finger to his lips and eagerly gestured them to follow him.

  It was too hard to resist.

  The girls followed past the stained glass double doors, into the lobby where they spied Lian sitting nervously on the lower stairs.

  “Hey, Lian!” Dwyn said a bit too enthusiastically. “What’s wrong? You look a bit agitated, my friend.”

  “I am.” Lian said.

  “Why?”

  “Well, I heard something. And it sounded like a…”

  Just then a terrible shriek pierced the air.

  Root screamed. “What’s that?”

  “It’s just as I thought!” yelled Lian. “It’s a Wogbort!”

  “A Wogbort!” cried Dwyn. “Are you sure?”

  “They’re attracted to music, which they must have heard in the Courtyard!”

  The Wogbort shrieked again.

  “Quick! Run!” yelled Lian. “They can instantly turn you to ashes with one touch! We’ll have to climb the curtains. They hate curtains and are repelled by them!”

  Without even questioning, everyone ran for the long, heavy drapes that hung from a tall window. Dwyn and Lian suddenly pulled Root and Tamik back before they arrived.

  Something had moved in the drapes.

  Then something else fell from the top of the drapes. And landed with an explosive splash!

  And then something stunk really, really bad.

  Lian and Dwyn went hysterical and as Root turned to them she saw that it was hysterical laughter.

  “Gotcha, y’cowardly eavesdropping loser!” Dwyn pointed at the curtains.

  The girls looked to where he had pointed. The explosive splash had landed on something that they hadn’t noticed before.

  And the reason that they hadn’t noticed is because it had been invisible. Or rather he had been invisible.

  Not so now. Now the figure of Kor Bludgitt was clearly outlined in the guts of the Widow Squash Bomb that Lian and Dwyn had planted.

  “I can’t believe you fell for it, Bludgitt!” Dwyn was howling in laughter.

  “Quick! Run for the curtains. They hate curtains!” Lian mimicked, wiping tears of glee from his eyes.

  The girls got it now.

  “But the Wogbort.” Root said.

  Lian went behind a large vase and pulled out a familiar disc. Know Your Forest Beasts. “Recording number twelve.” He said with a huge smile.

  They all turned to Kor. He was now fully visible, soaked in Widow Squash and stinking to the heavens. So bad, in fact, that when he went to yell at them, he ended up gagging instead.

  The four friends left him that way, taking their glee down the hall and up the stairs and well into the weeks that followed. Content that there would be no more anonymous bombing in the House of Gub.

  41

  PROMISES

  Deveroh Mountain was lovely in Spring.

  Tender buds were spilling into life. Shoots of green pushed up through their slushy blankets. Birds sang. The river down in the valley rushed swollen and alive.

  Root used her spade to flatten the mound of dirt she’d made. In its centre was the flower she’d grown from seed in her room. It was called a Chrysanthemum. A mum. It had blossomed into a gorgeous shade of pink and now Root stood over it uttering a last farewell.

  She had no clear memory of her mother and father but she knew they had loved her. And she knew she had loved them. Still loved them.

  She bent down and patted the mound once more with her hands. Deep within it the Song hummed peacefully in a nest of down. The only other living thing that knew of its hiding place was Skyy. Indeed, it was Skyy who had picked the site. Here in the most beautiful place in all of DréAmm.

  Root stood again and walked to her favorite spot, on the edge of the cliffs where the valley plunged below and the sky soared above.

  She reached into her pocket.

 
The wind seemed to pick up as if cued by a watching god.

  Root held out her hand.

  The watching god blew another gentle breath of wind.

  And the tiny white shoots of the Glawering seed flew like umbrellas from Root’s palm.

  She watched them spiral and drift and suddenly soar out from the cliffs into the waiting arms of Nature.

  There she watched them dance about. Browsing…browsing…

  Far below them, perfect patches of fertile soil waited.

  Root stood with her eyes closed, breathing with the wind.

  At length she turned to leave. Stogie was waiting. She was just about to mount when she heard a most beautiful sound.

  A deep rumbling of earth and air and water. It shook all the way through Root’s skin and deep into her veins.

  The seeds had landed.

  The Glawering were pleased.

  Root turned singing…

  Be not ye careworn

  Be glad ye were born

  Be not ye careworn

  Be glad ye were born

  Be not ye careworn

  Be glad ye were born…

  The End

  HERE’S A SNEAK PEEK AT

  THE EXCITING THIRD BOOK

  IN THE QUESTORY SERIES…

  TOME

  ZigZag had a bald head and huge ears. The whole rest of him was tight and sinewy, as if the hide of a gater had been stretched over his long bones. He had a gash in his cheek that had left a thick scar, several inches long. A scar that he admired very much, a shiny white stitch from temple to chin.

  When he was a boy and the Water Beast had come for him, he thought the creature would skid on land, lumber to a slow halt and stall. He did not know the Water Beast was just as adept on land. He did not know it could run faster than most, faster than a cocky, ill-mannered boy at any rate. No, he knew nothing of these things and it was only a matter of minutes before the beast’s teeth had snapped his heels, tripped him and scurried to catch him when he landed. This he did, head first, right into the enormous jaws. He’ll never forget the crack, the sound of his cheekbone breaking, the taste of blood on his tongue.