The Questory of Root Karbunkulus - Quill (39 page)

Root laughed as Stogie seemed to be looking
for his old friend in all that new fur and feathers. “I guess CPR
doesn’t quite work anymore, eh? Hmmm, let’s see. How ‘bout
Snowflake. No, that’s bad. Okay, how ‘bout Crystal? Worse.
Hmmm…Sparkly?… Icedrop? Flying Popsicle? Giant Winged White Stag
with huge antlers?”

The giant winged white stag with huge antlers
shook her head.

“How ‘bout…Untitled!”

Snort. As in hardy har har.

“Okay, okay let me think.” Root crossed her
arms and amped up the ideas.

The soon-to-be-named giant winged white stag
with huge antlers raised her head in the air. She seemed to be
pointing at something.

Root looked up. “What? There’s nothing there.
It’s just the...” she stopped and smiled. “Yes! Sky! It’s perfect!
But let’s spell it a little cooler, y’know, make it unique and all.
How ‘bout Skie…i-e? No? Okay Skye…y-e? Wait, I got it. Skyy. With
two y’s. Wha’dya think?”

Skyy with two y’s nodded her head.

“Yeah, it is perfect, isn’t it?” Root stroked
her soft muzzle. “Right, from now on you are Skyy, the last mighty
HaloEm of DréAmm!”

Skyy bowed her great head. Root bowed
back.

Skyy pawed at the ground. Root kind of just
stood there wondering if she was trying to tell her something or
just felt like pawing the ground or was she wanting Root to paw the
ground too?

Then Root was off her feet, scooped onto the
powerful back of her friend and rising swiftly into the air. Stogie
barked and chased after them as far as his Hover limits would go
but soon caught sight of fresh Bulk poo and was gone.

Root was too elated to care. She was rising,
flying, SOARING into the open sky above. “Woohoo!” she cried and
pulled herself in tighter to Skyy’s shoulders. Stogie became the
size of a dot and the land around him a range of white bumps and
tiny green bristles along a skinny shoelace of river.

Skyy streamed through the wind, all
clumsiness fallen away. She snorted and dove down, down toward the
cliffs, then spiraled up again while Root gasped and screamed in
delight.

“Let’s go see the hotel!” she called.

Skyy pivoted and took her glittering wings
into long, even strokes. They reached the castle in record time and
swooped around its spires and towers.

“The stable!” Root cried and in a breath they
were over its roof and adjoining pens. Hoards of little dotted
people ran and waved as they were spotted.

“The Lake!” Root cried.

Skyy doubled back in a giant loop and within
moments Mirror Lake was reflecting the beauty and strength of the
great beast and the enormous smile of her rider. More people came
out to watch. They cheered and clasped their mouths as the HaloEm
skimmed across the land and sky.

Root was already packaging this moment into
memory, clinging to its details, savoring its momentum. Her heart
was huge and thumping. And just when she thought she could never
feel more alive…

“Root!” Dwyn called. He was running in the
snow below her, no coat, no boots. Behind him, fumbling with the
same lack, Lian and Tamik were in a great, dithering rush.

“Root!” Dwyn yelled again, waving his hands.
“We won! We’re in! We get to stay!”

The words tumbled toward Root and landed like
a perfect snowball.

“We did it!” she cried “Valadors
uniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiite!”

Lian and Tamik caught up with Dwyn. Three
breathless puffs of fog in the clear cold. They watched, along with
everyone else as Root disappeared over the trees.

Root hugged Skyy’s soft furry neck. “Thank
you,” she whispered. Her winged friend snorted and nodded her head
in reply.

The wind flew past Root’s cheeks, painting
them even pinker. There was no sound, other than the rhythmic rise
and fall of wings.

And the beating drum of pure freedom.

Root would remember this day for the rest of
her life.

Blah, blah, blah blabber blah. Studaben
Picklepug’s gums were flapping a million miles an hour. No one was
listening. His butt-kissing speeches had become so pathetically
routine and saccharine that most interest fell upon the burgeoning
waistline of his pants instead. The button looked fit to pop any
second.

If he only knew that the very same people he
was elevating were placing bets upon the fate of his wardrobe,
perhaps he would be singing a different tune. But the Guardian was
not known for astuteness and, while his button fought to stay put,
his mouth unloaded.

Root looked around. As usual the Garden Court
was beautiful. Another wonderful dinner had come and gone with only
one Skullk in attendance, Sir Mathelopolick. Root spied Elgart. He
was positively beaming. And well he should be. He had single
handedly animated an entire fleet of potted plants to cook, set,
serve and clean up a banquet of five hundred people. They had been
each apron-ed in royal blue and had done a marvelous job. Root’s
table in particular was left quite impressed with its Rhododendron.
Who knew leaves could do that? The table that had ended up with the
cactus was not quite so pleased with its service. Although the
nearby Aloe Vera did come to aid often enough. And it was just so
kind of Lian to volunteer his Shrieking Shrub as an extra hand at
the Pinks table. Surely Hilly Punyun could appreciate the
exclusivity it provided. Indeed, no one else was cuddled and
serenaded like that…hee hee.

All in all, it was an amazing feat of
Animata. Elgart was proud.

But best of all was the lingering gratitude
that also claimed Elgart’s heart. From the second he had freed the
staircase from the ribbons and colored paper of Root’s gift box, he
had loved it. “I always wanted one of my own.” He’d sniffed
gratefully. And the way that staircase took to him was worth every
penny Root had spent fixing it up. Now it followed him around,
along with his pails and mops, ensuring Grandpa ‘Gart always had a
step to sit on (like now). Root watched Elgart. He was patting it
now. Patting it. “Good job, Hoskins.” He said.

Hoskins? Sure. Why not? Root grinned.

Picklepug droned on. Soon Root found herself
wandering through Quest memories. Faces came into view. She thought
about Krism and hoped that somehow he was in the care of those like
Poolipity Shrugs and Cloak Guy.

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!