The Questory of Root Karbunkulus - Quill (15 page)

Skubblenob had vexed them with his constant
attention to the stupid Tempometre remote. It had remained scalding
hot, though they were nowhere near the swamps now. Twice he’d
dropped it on the poor Tagit’s back. Twice! The great head had
swung around in contempt the first time. Wrong thing to do since it
made Skubblenob panic and drop it again. Dwyn had finally grabbed
the thing and hot potatoe’d it over to Lian who put it in the
refrigeration pocket of the travel pack. The inventor eventually
fell asleep with the helmet fallen over his brow and a host of
squeezebox riffs spilling from his throat.

Now eight Hovers rose into the air with long
deep breaths of freedom. They romped from one end of the blossomed
meadow to the other stretching their long unused bodies with
glee.

Hilly Punyun skidded from the Tagit’s back
and threw her Road onto the ground. It swiftly gathered and mingled
with the soil before forming a perfect map of their surroundings. A
face etched in the top right corner. “Greetings and thank you for
choosing Roads R Us, the most reliable…”

“Shut up and tell me where we are!”

The Road gaped momentarily, then heeded the
question with a loaded clearing of its throat. “We are in a cleared
passage called Pomean’s Steppe. This brief, yet abundant meadow
intersects the Swamps of Koik with The Maline Mountains. Yonder,
edging its land is a hedge of juicy wild raspberries and an orchard
of Ernut trees awaiting harvest. A clear mountain brook, currently
untitled resides exactly fifty paces north. Six fair jaunts to the
east is the town of Bansper with full amenities. To the west you
will find…”

“Yeah, yeah. Upsy daisy!” Hilly rolled her
eyes and sucked the Road up in a cyclonic spin, back into its
velvet pouch.

There was no conversing, no democratic debate
amongst her teammates. Hilly Punyun’s mind was made up and that was
clearly all that mattered. She whistled, jumped atop her Hover (an
overly groomed canine in a flashy pink collar) and headed eastward.
Nothing of a ‘goodbye’ or a ‘thank you’ was considered, let alone
actually uttered. Sharmay, Pidge and their very displeased guide
mounted and ranked in behind her, though from their pained looks
those juicy wild raspberries were hard to leave behind.

The hypnotic dance of the fire had lulled
Skubblenob and the Hovers to sleep. After the ice-cold, refreshing
waters of ‘Untitled’ plus mittfuls and mittfuls of raspberries and
Ernuts, sleep came fast, indeed.

If only Root, Lian and Dwyn could join them.
But, no. Not yet. Not until a decision was made. One that should
have been made ages ago.

“I just think ‘mutiny’ is a bit of a harsh
word is all.” Root whispered.

“Well, call it what you want, the fact is
we’ve gotta get rid of him once and for all! Or we may as well just
kiss this Quest goodbye.” Dwyn’s eyes were seriously serious.

“Fine. How?”

Skubblenob woke with a note beside his
head.

Gone for groceries. Be back soon.

The old woman closed her eyes. Her head
trembled. In her hand a paintbrush began an urgent dance across the
canvas.

“What is it, Sage Mother?” asked Fawn, the
young girl at her side.

As the Sage Mother’s apprentice, Fawn had
been practicing Sight for some time now. But she was nowhere near
full power and could make out nothing of the old woman’s vision as
it came in furious brush strokes of color and light.

Fawn sighed. Over the weeks she had grown
weary of her training. If she had her way she’d be dancing through
the mists in High Basin where the cool refreshing water fell from
the cliffs. But the old woman had seen a gift in her and as Diviner
of the Tribe, the Sage Mother was not to be denied.

Outside a window Fawn could hear the breezy
laughter of her friends. But all she could see was her own
impatient reflection. Her hair fell in long ebony crinkles that
seemed to have lost their luster from so many sunless days. Her
olive skin too looked hungry for the nourishing drink of outdoors.
And when she spied her eyes looking back, she wanted to cry for in
them she saw a trapped animal longing for freedom.

It wasn’t that the old woman was unkind. To
be sure, she was as sweet as the syrup that spilled from the maples
into the tribe’s empty jars. Her wizened eyes were always seen
twinkling merrily and her laughter filled the corners of her
caravan.

The Sage Mother was given second caravan, a
deep purple structure with whispering visions that came and went
along its facing. Gold seemed to have fallen from the sky and
rolled down its corners. And in the centre, a great eye was painted
with such conviction, the viewer felt known to the bone. The first
caravan, a flush pageant of blue and gold with a jeweled mosaic in
its centre, was given to the caravan leader, Festa the Bright.
Fawn’s father.

Fawn always found it ironic that neither of
them in their power and wisdom could see that she wasn’t cut out
for Tribal Queen or Diviner. All she wanted to do was dance.

The old woman’s paintbrush moved wildly upon
the canvas until at last the hand found peace and fell to her side.
The brush dropped to the floor. Her vision was over. The painting
was complete.

Fawn queried her again. “What is it, Sage
Mother?”

“Glam ash pur ay.” The Sage Mother spoke in
the ancient tongue of her tribe.
Someone comes
. Fawn looked
at the old woman’s painting. A pumpkin haired girl her own age
looked out at her with amethyst eyes. One boy, a Natruid and
another whose lineage was unclear flanked the girl. Fawn found
herself dizzy in the intensity of color and strokes. A thrill of
bumps covered her skin. Spirit talk.

“Who is this?” she asked, surprised that
three common youths would arouse such reaction in the woman. And in
herself. Her people were nomads. Visitors came and went all the
time and rarely had Fawn seen the Sage Mother offer more than a nod
or a clicking of her tongue. Obviously, these three were of some
importance not yet manifest in Fawn’s range of Vision. “Praporem
aven duvinat?”
What is their purpose?

The Sage Mother opened her eyes and took Fawn
into them, an ocean swallowing a drop of water. She smiled then,
with an artful curl of lips and said. “Va.”

Go.

Unlike his teammates, Dwyn’s energy had not
even dipped let alone sunk. While Root and Lian staggered along in
exhaustion he seemed to walk on air. The same potholes and roots
and branches that had clipped them seemed to avoid him entirely.
His steps were light and sure and before the sun was down, he had
led his friends to a canopied spot overhanging a summer kissed
valley rolling in red, pink, yellow and orange flowers. Here the
team finally rested and set up camp.

“What’s with you?” Root asked tending a hot
cup of Chorm.

“What?” Dwyn said.

“You’re like super guy or something. It’s
like you but the new, improved version. You haven’t even stumbled.
Not even once. And yesterday when you Molded into that bear and
caught us some fish for dinner, it was amazing. I mean, you didn’t
even flinch or like, end up half bear, half you. Haven’t you
noticed?”

“Yeah, actually I have.” And for the rest of
that evening Dwyn’s friends heard detailed accounts of his travels,
the ones he took while set like a statue in amber, the ones that
didn’t exist anywhere but in his mind. The ones that had literally
trained him intensely for weeks.

“It makes sense.” Lian summarized. “Ninety
nine percent of magic is done in the mind first, which is what
you’ve done here. Studies have shown that the actual action is
secondary. It’s like you went to magic boot camp for all those
weeks.”

“But it feels like I’ve accomplished more in
this few weeks than the entire months at Gub.”

“No distractions.” Lian said with a look of
‘duh, as in girls.’

Dwyn got a warm fuzzy of recognition. Girls.
Right. He stretched like a creature waking from hibernation, ready
to get back into an old familiar groove. A goofy smile lit his
face. “Yep, glad to be back.”

After hearing all about Dwyn’s ‘adventures’,
Root now wished she’d done the same thing. But, oh no, she had to
spend her precious hours and hours and hours staring at an ugly
cow-pig-rodent thing, pondering its family tree.

Well, the universe must have a sense of humor
or at least perfect timing for, just as Root thought this, a crack
was heard from the hovering darkness beyond their fire and a
slapdash of activity ensued: Lian said “what the…” and then Dwyn
moved like lightning and caught the thing that had made the
cracking sound and dragged it fireside and Root said “Oh my
goodness! It’s the cow-pig-rodent thingy!” at which point the
cow-pig-rodent thingy cried out with a kind of throaty bray that
freaked Dwyn out and made him drop it and that was when they all
saw that it was just a baby…an ugly one at that and as they kind of
blinked in confusion it ran into Root’s arms after tripping over
logs and trampling Pilsnip’s tail.

It was all rather haphazard. In a run-on
sentence kind of way.

But haphazard or not, Root recognized destiny
when it came around and this destiny was licking her ears and
staring straight at her with huge, precious Love Me eyes. In the
manner of a true den mother, she had the creature fed, watered and
wrapped in blankets fireside before the stars were out. It slept
silent and deep, completely oblivious to the comments that batted
over its head.

“I just can’t believe how homely it is. I
mean, what exactly is it?” Dwyn said. He and Root looked to Lian
for the usual encyclopedic explanation.

“I think it’s a Frey, definitely from the
Frey family.” Lian tilted in closer to the thing’s head. Always
eager to ingest more from the pie of knowledge, he brought out a
volume of books dedicated to mountain inhabitants (this from the
library pocket of the travel pack). He scanned through the pages,
happily sidetracked here and there by the particulars of similar
inhabitants.

“Or quite possibly a Porgabott,” he said at
last, pausing his finger over a picture. Root leaned in. The
Porgabott was ugly indeed. Two distant eyeballs bugged out from
grey skin that was patched in wiry tufts. Its ears were not unlike
phonograph horns. But the thing was tiny. It barely fit over the
model’s fingers. Nothing like
her
creature, which was at
least the size of a mule. She made a point of mentioning this.

“Well.” Lian patronized. “Maybe yours is full
grown after all.”

“But it says Porgabotts only grow up to ten
inches.”

Lian’s ears went red. He scanned the page for
proof.

“Well, whatever.” Dwyn piped up. “Maybe it’s
an exception to the size rule. It still looks like it.”

“Not really. It’s ugly but not the same
ugly.”

“Ugly is ugly, Root.”

Root looked at the picture again. Maybe…
maybe
there was some similarity in the eyes but that’s where
it ended. “I just don’t think it’s a Porgabutt.” She said with an
air of finality.

“Porga
bott
.” Lian corrected and
flipped the page. He knew Root was right, of course but she didn’t
have to be so…so right about it.

They went through a few more pictures. And a
few more debates.

When it was agreed that the animal could be
either of these or none of these, but that it was definitely not
dangerous, Root spent the next hour trying to convince her
teammates to let it stay with them, at least until it was old
enough to care for itself. And though she was made fully aware of
the fact that that could be many long interminable weeks, she held
fast.

The creature slept on with gurgling sounds
and enough gaseous grunts to seriously damage her case but in the
end, they agreed to let Root keep the ugly thing. As long as it
stayed out of trouble and didn’t drag them down, especially now
that they were Skubblenob-free and determined to catch up in the
race.

They had decided to visit the port town of
Divit. It was close to the White Woods, where Milwart had said the
HaloEm had lived at one time. With this in mind, the next hour or
so was spent preparing: cleaning up, filling up, planning,
prepping. Skubblenob’s dumb remote had melted everything in the
refrigerator pocket of the travel pack, which was what Lian was
reorganizing when they heard a faint sound.

“Shhshshshshsh!” Dwyn said and pointed from
their plateau far down into the valley where a sprinkle of golden
lights began to glow. There must have been hundreds of them or
more, lanterns and in larger areas, fires.

The sound came fuller now. Singing. And not
just singing. Entrancing, smoky music that pulsed and rolled and
danced in the mountains like fireflies.

“Are they…faeries?” Root asked.

“ I don’t think so.” Lian said. “The music is
too rustic. I think it’s a tribe of some kind. It sounds Eastern.
Probably Ekladians.”

“What’re they?”

“Nomads. And they usually have really nifty
stuff to sell. Like, super excellent quality. Might be worth
checking out.”

“So, they’re friendly then?”

“Generally.”

“Well, they sound pretty friendly to me.
C’mon!” Dwyn yelped and was gone.

“Wait, Dwyn…you can’t just….”

Too late. Root and Lian ran about trying to
decide what to bring or leave behind before chasing after Dwyn. The
Hovers were spread out in bundles around the fire and told to keep
an eye on things. Root pointed out the sleeping CowPigRodent in the
blankets to Stogie and told him to watch over it. Stogie was still
staring at it as Root set out, as if he too couldn’t imagine
anything uglier.

“Just leave it!” Root said to Lian who was
hastily trying to repack the travel bag. “The Hovers’ll watch
it.”