“And then ye would return the Elboni?”
“If I had it, and I’m not saying that I do, but heck yeah, I’d return it for three mil.”
“I will bring your offer to Lady Gost,” Needle shook his head. “But I am certain it will be rejected.”
“Why’s that?”
“Interfering with another planet’s government, monetary system, or institutions of trade be strictly prohibited. We cannot simply take three million credits from somewhere on Tullah and hand them to ye. Unless, of course, we be directed to do so by the Elboni.”
“You’d let Wybb die over some stupid rules?” Glory tried to hide her building frustration. “Why are you so stingy with the wishes?”
The Wybbils cringed.
“Watch your tongue, Rock Collector.” Bone’s voice was stern. “Magical requests.”
“Oops, I keep forgetting.”
“Not stingy, but obedient. Obedience brings order to our world, protecting it from chaos, keeping everything predictable, like a shape. The one around the Elboni served as a barrier against words that might otherwise gain power over us”
“You mean the shape blocks magic spells?”
“Not exactly,” White Feather said. “But she has the right idea.” White Feather said.
“If it wasn’t for the ritual,” Bone said. “Star Riders would become slaves to every creature seeking the object of its desire and that’s no way to live."
“I suppose not.” Glory studied the force field and asked aloud, “But rules can make you a slave too.”
The Wybbils grumbled to each other, but didn’t have a comeback. She noticed shapes engraved all over the walls. Circles, squares, ovals, rectangles, and triangles. Some appeared to be made of metal, others seashells, many were made of vines. They must have some hidden meaning.
“Tell me about the shapes I see, all made of different substances. What does it mean?”
Needle cleared his throat and explained like a primary school teacher, all patient and such, like he was glad to remedy such ignorance.
“Shape and substance matter very much. Material that never had life be a barrier to magic. It keeps it in, or out, depending on the perspective.
“Living material creates the strongest bond with the magic, but it behaves most unpredictably. One must be very careful when using magic on living things, especially people.
“That’s why organic material, things that once had life, but don’t any longer, makes the best vessels for conducting magic. The blueprint of life is there, but neutralized, making the consequences predictable.”
“Interesting.” Glory made a mental note to write that down. “But why a rectangle? Could the force field be shaped like a circle and still work?”
Needle and White Feather burst out laughing.
"A circle—ha!” Bone said. “Everyone knows a circle be for magic. Square be for logic. Oval be for abundance. Rectangle be for death. ”
“What!” Glory said in surprise, noting the rectangular transparent box housing the empty pedestal. “Are you trying to kill the Elboni?”
The three Wybbils eyes went wide. They laughed at her again.
“Silly Tullahn.” Bone rolled his eyes.
Good, they were sharing information with her unguarded. Wybbils thought Tullahns were so ignorant, so beneath them, if she lined up her game pieces just right, their arrogance might just cost them a wish.
“No, Rock Collector,” Needle replied. “A rectangle be for death, of course, but death comes in many forms. The shape of this particular barrier kills spells and nothing else. There be rectangles that are designed for physical death, but not this one.”
“So, if the force field was, let’s say a circle, it wouldn’t kill a spell—it would make it stronger?”
“It depends, but ye have the basic notion.”
“What’s the rectangle around the Elboni made from—something dead?”
Just then, the sound of a trumpet pierced the air. Everyone jerked to attention.
Two tall doors swung open and a couple dozen guards entered. Some had wormy black beards, others brown. All had saggy cheeks like the emissaries. Dressed in forest green uniforms, studded with silver buttons, they marched in unison through the cathedral. A small woman with smooth skin, and cheeks that didn’t sag, followed behind them.
“All make way for the Guardian of Sacred Things!” a loud voice echoed.
Chapter 17
Guards marched protectively around a dainty woman in a silky white gown with a train so long it dusted the floor several feet behind her. She walked slowly and proudly like a dignified bride confidant of her beauty. She held a maroon book gilded with gold high above her head. Shocking white hair cascaded over her shoulders down to her knees. Her reddish smooth face was neither young nor old, but timeless.
“It’s Lady Gost,” Needle whispered out the corner of his mouth to Glory. “So behave yourself.”
“What!” Glory squeaked. “She’s a ghost?”
“No, Rock Collector. Not a ghost—GOST. The Guardian of Sacred Things. She guards The Book of Laws among other things.”
“Is she your boss?”
“Her husband has put her in charge over all of Wybb, so yes, she’s the boss.”
The rest of the guards formed two straight lines. Glory nervously eyed the scabbards at their sides. Lady Gost, Guardian of Sacred Things, walked through their ranks to stand just a few feet in front of Glory. Even though she was a head shorter than Glory, she felt small in her presence.
Lady Gost’s huge dark eyes felt like spears piercing Glory’s very soul. The star riders took off their hats and bowed deeply. The woman stood before them, book hefted high, lips moving as if in prayer. When she lowered the book, the lead guard shouted.
“Arise!”
They did and the lady addressed them most repectfully.
“Esteemed Emissaries to the Elboni," she said with decorum, the way Glory imagined a queen would talk. “Welcome home.”
The three men bowed again. She returned a slight nod.
Neither frowning, nor smiling, she studied Glory up and down.
“Are ye the thief who stole the Elboni?” Lady Gost didn’t speak like the emissaries. Her diction sounded haughty, perfect almost, even better than the prim and proper language used by the teachers at school.
Unable to meet her gaze, Glory looked down at her feet instead. Suddenly, Glory realized the lady seemed familiar. Could this be the woman she had seen and heard in Queen’s Mesa? The one who had yelled Elboni? If so, did this mean that Lady Gost knew more than she was letting on?
“I asked you a question,” Lady Gost said.
“Huh?” Glory had lost track of the conversation.
“The Tullahn who asks so many questions, cannot answer just one?” Lady Gost turned to face the three Wybbils bowing before her with hats in their hands. "Ye came without the Elboni, yet the thief lives.”
“We couldn’t just…you know.” said Needle. “When we realized that the thief was only a child.”
"I'm fourteen," said Glory, resenting being called a child.
"Fourteen hundred?” asked the lady, her eyebrows arching.
"No, uh, fourteen.” Glory felt shy all of a sudden. “No more, no less—that's me." She gave a stupid little wave. “Hello.”
“Council!” Lady Gost suddenly shouted. “Star Riders!”
Rustles came from behind. Glory peered over her shoulder to see a dozen or so Wybbils in green robes. All had wormy gray beards and pinkish skin dotted with hundreds of age spots. They walked stiffly, their shoulders hunched, and appeared to be much older than the emissaries she’d came with, which was impressive considering they were a thousand-something years old. They shuffled toward Lady Gost, gathering around, careful not to step on her silky train. She seemed to be asking many question, giving orders as well, but Glory couldn’t make out precise words.
From beneath their robes, the council members produced books. Rapidly leafing through pages
, excited subdued conversation ensued. Glory strained to hear, but no luck. A little while later, the council formed a line behind Lady Gost who stared at Glory an uncomfortably long time. Glory wanted to melt into the floor—anything to get away from those penetrating black eyes.
“On Tullah you are considered a child.” Lady Gost inquired. “Is this correct?”
“Um, well, more like a teenager.”
“Speak up.”
“Not a child exactly.”
“Does this mean you’re considered an adult in your world?”
“Uh, no, legally I’m underage.”
“What be the age of reason for Tullahns?”
Glory had no clue what that meant, so she shrugged.
Lady Gost frowned, then glanced back to look at the council. “The age of reason for Tullahns—quickly.”
The council formed a huddle and a minute later one of them stepped forward. “According to our sources the average Tullahn can grasp basic concepts of right and wrong by age seven or eight. By age fourteen reason has reached a very high level, but not as fully as a mature member of the species.”
Lady Gost’s large eyes turned toward the window, her wizened face lost in thoughtful expression. After a few seconds, she sighed heavily. “The Tullahn has reached the age of reason and therefore falls under the penalty of law.” She turned to Glory, her dainty features rigid. “Confess thy wrongdoing and things will go better for ye.”
“B-b-but, I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Lady Gost tossed her head back, shielding her eyes in the crook of her arm as if her words had stingers. “Your lips speak lies wrapped in excuses.” Then she walked in a circle around Glory while the guards tensely fingered the hilt of their swords. “The Law permits confession via extraction from persons of reason and sound mind.”
“The sound mind part is up for question.” Glory was fighting for survival now and had to come up with something fast. “A lot of people on Tullah think I’m bonkers, insane, mentally whacked.”
“And why is that?”
“Because they didn’t believe me about the Hoogula and the little men sneaking through the house at night.”
“From my perspective your claims are very reasonable. Therefore, your mental state isn’t up for question, which means you are not exempt from extraction and inevitable death.”
Talk of death made Glory’s knees weak.
Lady Gost held the book against her chest, head bowed in thoughtful pose a long while, before she addressed the room again.
“I am grieved at the thought of putting one so young to death, but what can I do?” She seemed to be thinking out loud. “What can I do? More time, yes, give her more time, but time is in short supply for Wybb.” Pausing for a moment, lips moving as if she was working something out in her head, Lady Gost paced back and forth talking under her breath barely loud enough for Glory to make out. “No, I can’t do that. Can I? But if my emissaries unwittingly reveal it under obedience…” A smile touched her lips, then it mutated into a stern proclamation.
“Due to the Tullahn’s young age, we will give her a opportunity to repent of this madness. Unfortunately, time is of the essence. So if she doesn’t have a change of heart within two turns of Wybb, what we need shall be taken forcibly from her via the extraction pools.”
Gasps filled the cathedral.
“Please, I don’t understand what’s happening.” Glory whispered to Needle. “What’s an extraction?”
“A torturous process,” Lady Gost answered for him. “Where one’s memories float away, along with the body’s life giving juices, leaving behind only a crusty shell.”
A strangled sound escaped Glory’s throat. She looked to Needle for help. He looked down at his hat, pretending to straighten its green band, refusing to look in her direction.
“You’re gonna let her murder me?” Glory’s voice went up a notch.
The three emissaries wringed their hats, but made no reply.
“Killing is not murder if justified,” said Lady Gost.
“Dead is dead,” Glory said quietly. “I don’t see the difference.”
“Perhaps a trip to the Bamboozle will loosen your mouth.”
Lady Gost stretched out an arm and pointed over the ocean.
“Star Riders, to the Bamboozle with her.”
“In submission,” the three emissaries bowed. “We obey.”
“One more thing,” Lady Gost addressed the star riders. “I command you to indulge whatever questions the Tullahn asks of you. Perchance the more she learns of our ways, the more she’ll appreciate our plight.”
The three emissaries gave one another perplexed looks about their orders, but didn’t question.
“What are the eight conditions of the binding ritual?” Glory blurted out. Hey, it couldn’t hurt to ask.
Lady Gost held up a slender index finger straight up in the air. “Ah-ah-ah, that’s one curiosity that cannot be indulged.
“Now go out, emissaries, and do as I’ve commanded.” She pointed toward the double doors at the back of the cathedral. “And may the luck of the Elboni be with you.”
The emissaries bowed again. “In submission we obey.”
Bone and White Feather clamped down on Glory’s wrists, and led her off the main floor of the cathedral, down a winding staircase, through dusty halls that twisted this way and that, reminding her quite a bit of the tunnels in Queen’s Mesa. They finally came to a vestibule with a flat patch of brick floor. A tall set of doors swung open all on their own. A flight of stairs spiraled down, then another, and another, until they went through a second set of tall doors. Finally, they escaped the dim corridors to step outside onto a deck made of stones.
A steep meandering gravel walkway led from it toward the beach. Violet rolling waves and white ribbons of sea foam slapped the shore. They followed the path. A flagstone runway ran along the beach.
Glory saw a yellow whifferdil, probably the one she’d seen through the window earlier, parked at the end of the runway. Two sword-carrying guards seemed to be having a spirited conversation with a Wybbil wearing yellow aviator goggles. A group of passengers from the whifferdil milled about shielding their eyes to look up at the huge cathedral, complaining about the landing skills of their pilot and the delay in completing their pilgrimage.
A second whifferdil the color of tomato sauce hovered in the sky above. It looked like a big slice of piece of pizza coming in for a landing. Rapid popping sounds like water in a rolling boil accompanied the descent.
The three emissaries conversed amongst themselves.
“Why did Lady Gost order us to answer the Tullahn’s annoying questions?” Bone wondered out loud, but his friends didn’t come up with any answers.
“Strange to see the sky so empty,” White Feather said as he looked out over the ocean.
“Aye,” replied White Feather. “Panic will ensue if news that the Elboni has gone missing goes public.”
“Our faithful pilot,” Needle said, pointing to a dark red whifferdil in the horizon.
Glory watched the flying wedge land on a platform a stone-throw away. The craft reminded her of a paper airplane, but thicker with no crease down the middle. The front end came to a point and the back end was slightly wider than Dad’s truck bed. Golden fringe dangled from its edges. Bubbles hissed from beneath the hull in a mad frenzy and floated up into the air.
Where are the dials? Where are the other instruments? How in the world does it fly? Then she remembered. Ah, magic.
A Wybbil wearing ketchup-colored goggles and a matching jumpsuit sat at the front of the aircraft, his legs knotted into a pretzel. He shoved a fat sandwich into his mouth. Glory strained her neck to check for any signs of a live rodent wiggling amongst the lettuce. The pilot dabbed the edges of his beard with his silky white neck scarf.
“At your service,” he bowed his head at the three emissaries.
“You mean we get to fly on one of these contraptions?” Glory asked, eyes wide with excitemen
t and a little bit of fear.
“Contraption?” The pilot turned to Glory. Even with a full mouth, his annoyance came through loud and clear. “It’s called a whifferdil.”
Bone said to the pilot, “We need a ride to the Bamboozle.”
The pilot choked on his lunch, then cupped his hand to an ear. “Say that again.”
“Ye heard me.”
“No need for an attitude,” he said testily. “I know my place. I’m just a lowly chauffer who mustn’t question ye highly esteemed star riders.”
“We hold ye in high regard,” Needle said. “And ye know it.”
“Aye,” said White Feather.
“Don’t indulge him,” Bone said. “He just likes to hear us say it.”
The pilot smiled and bowed, sweeping his arm toward his craft.
The three Wybbils bowed back, then formed a line, making Glory stand at the end. They walked around the whifferdil in procession, circling once, then twice, and then three times.
“What are we doing?” She asked when they reversed tracks and circled back the other way. “The law requires us to circle thrice forward, then thrice back again before boarding any vessel,” Bone said.
“Why?”
“Tradition.”
“Oh,” Glory replied and followed them around until they completed all the circling. Looking bored, the pilot flicked breadcrumbs off his chest, then shouted into the breeze,
“All aboard who’s coming aboard!”
“Do ye have to do that every time?” Bone muttered, massaging his ear with a finger. “We’re standing right here.”
“Ye have your traditions,” said the pilot. “And I have mine.”
He swept his hand through the air and a set of stairs unfolded from the side of the whifferdil. Glory tested the bottom step with the toe of her hikers. It gave a little, but sprang back like a sponge. Cool. She bounced up the steps and leapt to the middle of the whifferdil.
“Whoohoo.” The recoil sprung her back into the air again. “Feels like a trampoline!”
“Stop that,” Bone ordered.
“If I may ask,” the pilot turned to Bone, pointing with his head at Glory. “What manner of creature is he?”
Glory Alley and the Star Riders (The Glory Alley Series) Page 15
