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

by C. Deanna Verhoff

“Ye get out of the Bamboozle.”

  “That’s it? No magic for me, no trophy with my name on it, no anything?”

  “Trust me, escaping the Bamboozle will be reward enough.”

  “Escape what? There’s nothing in there except sand.”

  “Ye will be in there.”

  “I kinda figured that.” Glory scratched her head. “I don’t understand the point of all this.”

  “The Bamboozle makes a stiff will more pliable.”

  “And if my will stays unpliable?”

  “The extraction will commence, taking away your memories through osmosis until your body crinkles into a dried up raisin. When the process finally gets to your deepest memories, the last bit of blood and fluids will be leached away. By the time the last images of your life rise to the top of the pool the only thing left of ye will be bones and gristle.”

  She didn’t want to believe them, but her fear grew exponentially by the hour. Maybe I should give up. How can I, a lone girl, defeat all of this? Grandpa’s face jiggled into focus. Keep your eyes on the treasure. She forced herself to think of the coveted Sliver, the designer jacket, the respect of her peers, a pile of money to pay off the house and farm, medical specialists for George, and keeping people like Crenshaw off their backs.

  “Why not just give me what I want and I’ll give you what you want?”

  “Give us the Elboni first and then we will discuss it,” Bone said.

  “Why are you Wybbils so stingy about sharing magic with people who need it?”

  “Greedy Indigoes,” Bone muttered. “Always thinking about money.”

  “It’s not just for me. It’s the only way to keep my family together.”

  “Ye and your puny problems,” Bone replied.

  “They’re not puny to me.”

  “Just like an Indigo to think the universe revolves around her,” Bone replied, getting inches from her face. “Well, I got news for ye—it doesn’t!”

  She turned her head to avoid spittle.

  “Ye don’t understand, Rock Collector,” Needle said, coming closer, making her feel closed in. “Even though ye be so undeserving, we’d give ye what ye want to save Wybb, but we can’t break the rules.”

  “Rules schmules,” Glory complained. “There’s always a way around them.”

  “Your darkened Tullahn mind tells ye that, but allow me to set it straight,” White Feather said acting all superior. “Wybb runs on magic, see. The magic be given to us—we do not own it, so it’s not ours to use in any old way. The wind and rain be not ours to command. We have no power over life and death. Everything we have to offer that be worth offering comes from the Elboni itself.

  “On Tullah, it works the same way, except the inhabitants there be blind to the magic. That’s why things come so hard to them. Tullahns must rely on brute strength and hard earned knowledge to survive. You devote your lives to building machines and creating technology in order to live comfortably. On Wybb things simply come to us as gifts, so we can concentrate on better things.”

  “You mean nobody invented the whifferdils—they just fell out of the sky?”

  “Almost, yes.”

  “And the Nightburner, Thunderbone and Paraplume?”

  “Gifts of the Elboni as well.”

  Glory tilted her head in deep thought. This new information might be pertinent to her cause. She had to know how it applied to the binding ritual.

  “So you’re not really magic—just the gifts are magic?”

  “Indeed.”

  “If that’s the case, and you Wybbils aren’t magic, how is it you have the power to grant wishes?”

  “Quit saying that word!” Bone yelled. “Call it a magical request or spell it out!”

  “Whatever,” Glory said with a swish of her hand. “You know what I mean.”

  “If all the requirements of a binding be met,” Needle said. “The Elboni’s magic flows through the Wybbil who invoked it. We’re merely conduits. Don’t ask me why—it’s just the order of things.”

  “What are the requirements of a binding again?” Glory asked, trying to sound casual about it.

  “Ye be bold, Tullahn,” White Feather said. “And not very smart if ye think we’d tell ye how to bind us.”

  “The Elboni be very particular about who comes near it. Not even us emissaries can touch it with bare hands and live.”

  “That’s right,” added Bone with a sneer. “I wouldn’t dare ask for a W-I-S-H on the behalf of a thief like ye for fear of offending the Elboni.”

  “The Elboni wouldn’t mind,” Glory said. “Because we’re tight like this.” She squeezed her hands together for emphasis. “I wasn’t going to tell you, but I already touched it. With bare hands. And I lived.”

  “Liar!” cried White Feather, big nostrils were flaring and his fists were clenched tight at his sides. “Blasphemer!” He sounded downright vengeful. “Let the test begin!”

  Needle came back through the door. He took Glory by the shoulders, holding her at arm’s length to meet his gaze. “There be only three rules: One: ye can blow this whistle to summon us and we will get ye out pending a negotiation.”

  He pulled a pearly bird-shaped whistle on a chain out of his glittery green vest. “Two: ye cannot exit through the red door unless ye are carried out by one of us.

  “Three: if ye manage to escape the Bamboozle on your own, ye pass and can never be tested again.”

  He placed the whistle around Glory’s neck. His scratchy voice deepened. “Remember, blow the whistle and we will come.”

  “But, what do I do? How do I get out of the Bamboozle? Are the doors locked? Do I need a key?”

  “Only the whistle, or a show of selflessness, can end each test. Since the latter be difficult to come by in a species so lacking, ye better hang tight to the whistle.”

  White Feather gave her a rough shove through the square door. Glory fell and came up with a mouthful of sand.

  “May the Elboni’s magic be with ye,” Needle said and slammed the door, which instantly vanished and became one with the wall of sand.

  Chapter 19

  Glory spit out sand granules and ran to the part of the wall where the square door had been only a second ago. Only hard rough brick made of white sand met her fingertips.

  She pounded the wall. “Let me out!”

  Nobody answered.

  The shadowy Bamboozle felt like prison, or worse, a tomb. Maybe her brothers were right about her being bonkers. She slid down the wall to a seated position. Sunlight poured through the tall stack creating a bright circle at the center of the ground.

  “This is just a really bad, BAD dream.” She said aloud, banging the back of her head against the wall. “Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.”

  She lifted the bird whistle to her mouth to end the test. “Wait, what am I doing?” She studied the whistle—such a shiny little bird—so sweet and inviting. “Wait. This is what they want you to do—panic—so you’ll trade your freedom for the stone.” She let the whistle drop to her chest. “Keep your eyes on the treasure, Glo.”

  “Bamboozle,” she whispered. “I’m not going anywhere, so you might as well show me what you got.”

  Silence.

  “Oh, I see, your strategy is to bore me to death.”

  Rubbing her temples, she studied the three painted doors barely perceptible in the shadowy edges of the structure. Where did they lead? Outside? To another world? Perhaps they were holding something back?

  Shapes were significant in Wybb. Were colors too?

  She tapped an index finger on her chin—thinking. Green reminded her of moss. But maybe it stood for sickness because people turned green when nauseous. And wasn’t that the color of envy? What the heck should I do? Her brothers complained that she was too slow about things. If I think about it too much, I won’t do anything at all. Let’s see, leaves are green. Maybe the door is symbolic for garden. A garden means life. Glory decided to try the green door first.

  She plowed through t
he thick sand into the dimly lit edge of the Bamboozle. The door felt metallic and cool to the touch. A brass handle rested at the center. What terrible thing waited behind it? Don’t think about it, she cheered herself on. You can do it, Glo. Ignore the fear and simply do it.

  Heart thumping, she tugged at the handle, opening the door a mere crack.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, she peeked through.

  Eyes widened curiously. Sand, and more sand, an open sky. The sun shimmered above the baking land, so hot she could see heat vapors rising from the ground and a stretch of beach with palm trees far in the distance.

  Her heart leapt. She’d found the way out on the first try!

  Congratulating herself for having reasoned it all out, she pulled the door wide open. Chin up she marched through it, but when she stepped through, the beach disappeared, replaced by a narrow metal chamber lined with foggy windows. Brown bench seats filled the floor. A thin aisle ran down the center. Familiar faces stared up at her. The school bus? I’m on the friggin’ school bus.

  Scratching her temple, she couldn’t even remember getting out of bed this morning. Now she stood in front of Mrs. Spud with backpack slung over one shoulder. Everything felt out of whack, but she couldn’t put her finger on the why of it.

  Dang, it was cold this morning. Ice pricked her skin so deeply that her teeth clicked together.

  “Brrrr!”

  “My, my,” said Mrs. Spud, eyes opened wide as she looked her up and down, stopping at her feet. “Aren’t we eager to get to school today?”

  “What?” Glory looked where Mrs. Spud was looking. “I forgot my shoes!”

  “And that’s not all you forgot.”

  That’s when she noticed that the bus was eerily quiet and all eyes were upon her. Expressions ranging from shocked, nervous, amused, and astounded hung on the faces of her bus mates.

  Clash was there, eyes wide, as if the Blob that Ate Fort Jennings had stepped onto the bus from some sci-fi flick. She quickly made her way to the middle seats. Cold touched her skin…everywhere. That’s when she looked down and realized to her horror that she was stark naked. The only item on her person was a bird necklace.

  “Whah!” Glory’s arms and hands shot to her chest and to her private area.

  The necklace suddenly grew hot, as did the rest of her. If a full body blush was possible, she was sure she looked like a big fat apple. Somehow, she knew the silver bird could end her ridiculous predicament. Unfortunately, she needed to move strategically placed hands to blow it.

  Clash rushed towards her offering his coat, but someone tripped him along the way. A boy let out a hoop. Another whistled. The bus erupted into a mad frenzy—kids standing, kids hollering, kids shoving and throwing things.

  She tried making a hasty escape out the bus doors, but the aisle had filled with craziness.

  “Glory,” she recognized Matthew’s voice.

  Somehow, he had charged through the aisle to wrap her in his coat. She couldn’t have felt more gratitude.

  Mandy Filmore stepped over Clash to grab at the coat. Glory fought to hang onto it. Winning a game of tug-a-war had never been this important.

  “What’s wrong with you—Glory Alley, coming on the bus all naked?” Mandy said in her superior way. “Are you high on drugs?”

  “Let go,” Glory said in desperation.

  Mandy frowned the way men frowned at Dad when he fell down drunk in public. “Your daddy’s a lush, Brandon’s a druggie, your other brothers are going to end up in prison, and your sister’s a slut. No wonder you don’t know any better than to go around in the buff.”

  “Yeah, Glory don’t know any better,” one of Mandy’s friends joined in. “She’s a loser like the rest of the Alleys.”

  “Can’t you let up for even a minute, Mandy?” Olivia Wingfield squeezed in to face Mandy. “Something terrible must have happened to her. Show some compassion.” Olivia turned to Glory. “Come on, sweetie, I’m taking you home.”

  The scene seemed to move in slow motion. Olivia steered her toward the bus doors, using her own body as a shield against spitballs and flying pencils. She glanced behind her to see Clash fighting off classmates who had turned into vicious animals, hungry to humiliate her further. Matthew Cloude had taken position in front of Olivia, bouncing classmates out of the aisle. “Get out of our way!” When he spoke, other boys stepped aside.

  “Home,” Glory said.

  “It’ll be all right,” Olivia tried to comfort.

  “Her family is so poor they can’t even afford clothes,” a girl pointed and laughed.

  “But by the looks of things, they can afford donuts,” another faceless girl said. “Did you see that roll of blubber?”

  More heat rushed to Glory’s cheeks.

  Glory shrank inside, as the laughter grew louder, and the taunts crueler. Each jibe felt like a hammer to her gut.

  “Why are you helping an Alley?” Mandy said, trying to pull Olivia away. “Her father had my uncle arrested. If you step off that bus with her, then you’re no friend of mine.”

  “Please, don’t be mad at me,” Olivia said, giving Mandy an apologetic look. “But I...it’s the right thing to do.”

  Mrs. Spud looked at her watch, then back to the Alley house which sat far from the road. “For goodness sakes, somebody give her some pants.”

  “Fatty, fatty, two-by-four, can’t get out bus four’s door. Her mama’s dead, and her daddy’s poor, brother’s a dunce, and her sister’s a whore.” The chant rose somewhere from the back of the bus, violating her ears.

  She could never face any of them again.

  Matthew cleared the way toward the door, shoving boys aside who were trying to pinch her rear.

  “Open the friggin’ doors!” Matthew called out to the bus driver. “Hurry it up, Spud!”

  By the time they got to the bus steps, the four of them were a mesh of arms and legs trying to escape the chaos. As Glory’s feet braced for the feel of asphalt against bare soles, she felt empty air instead. A moment later, she landed on sandy ground. The unexpected softness made her stumble to her knees.

  She rested in doggie position for a few seconds, clenching sand between her clenched fists, as knowledge of the Elboni and Wybbils returned.

  “Son-of-bum, I’m back in the Bamboozle.”

  She rolled onto her back to see the green door. It was still opened and so were the bus doors beyond. There was Mrs. Spud sitting in the driver’s seat, hands on the door lever, with the kids laughing in the background.

  The doors started to close.

  “Screw the Bamboozle, screw the test, I’m going home!” She scrambled to her feet, rushed toward the door. “Tullah!” But the green door slammed shut just before she could climb aboard.

  She tried to turn the knob again. This time it was locked, but she refused to give up, but a moment later the door vanished, leaving her empty handed.

  Chapter 20

  Glory stepped back from the wall glad to be alone again. She felt the weight of her clothes instantly return. Thank goodness for small favors, because the idea of roaming around Wybb in the buff wasn’t exactly comforting. Thinking of the bus fiasco made her hands go over her face. “Boy, oh boy, do I hope that didn’t really happen.”

  That’s when she realized Matthew’s coat was among her belongings. “Oh, no,” she wailed, “Now I’ll have to drop out of school and go live under a bridge where I won’t have to see any of them ever again!”

  “Why did I dare go up against the Wybbils? Those squirrel munchers play dirty!”

  Never in a million years did she expect a test like that. The utter humiliation of being exposed before her peers was too much to handle! She hung her head in shame.

  “Wait…that’s exactly how the Wybbils wanted her to react…defeated.” She straightened her back and humphed. “So what if my classmates saw me without any clothes? I’m still the same person.” She took in a deep breath. “Right?”

  “Next time,” she tightened her resolve,
“I’ll be ready.”

  The sound of a throat clearing scattered her thoughts.

  She sprang to her feet, heart thumping, fists raised. “Who’s there?!”

  “Uh, it’s me,” a shaky voice called from the shadows.

  “Clash?” Glory’s rapid breaths stilled ever so slightly, but uncertainly lingered. Her voice maintained a suspicious edge “How’d you get here?”

  Four figures stepped into the light beneath the tall stem of the Bamboozle.

  Every muscle tensed. What if they were hallucinations? The freckled scrawny kid in round glasses certainly looked like Clash. A second taller teen with broad shoulders stepped into the light. He carried a duffle bag over one shoulder and had a slingboard strapped across his back. Matthew Cloude? He looked uncharacteristically uncertain as he eyed the concave walls. A slender girl with straight blonde hair down to her waist, and fashion boots up to her knees, stood inside the Bamboozle—Olivia. Then there was the girl with a flawless skin, plump red lips, stylish black hair, and the perpetual frown that said I think you’re below me. Mandy Filmore…just my luck to travel across the universe and run into her. Mandy took over the patch of sunlight, frantically searching through her sequined purse.

  “Where’s that stupid phone?”

  “Great bloody gut bucket, where are we?” Clash asked, eyes darting every direction as he filmed everything with his Sliver. “And how did we get here?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” Mandy stepped forward, shaking a finger. “There’s no reception.”

  Glory cautiously tried to explain. “Um, when we stepped off the bus, we were transported to the, uh, Bamboozle.”

  “You drugged me, Glory Alley, didn’t you?” Mandy accused. She turned to Clash. “Or maybe it was you. I felt you bite my ankle back there on the bus, but maybe it was actually a needle.” She balanced on one foot pulling her foot up for closer inspecting. “I swear that looks like a pin prick. What’d you inject me with?”

  Everybody stood in a circle to peer at Mandy’s ankle.

  “Looks like a hair follicle to me,” Clash said, zooming in on the spot with his Sliver’s built-in video recorder.