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

by C. Deanna Verhoff

  “Motion sickness.” He explained. “Remember what happened on the Tilt-o-wheel?”

  “Sweltering heat, spinning rides, and chili dogs,” Glory said. “A lethal mix.”

  They both looked up at the tree. The whifferdil hung in the uppermost branches. Pieces of red spongy material littered the ground, but the craft was in one piece, mostly.

  The idea of using the whifferdil to escape the island crossed her mind, but she’d barely lived through the wild ride out of the Bamboozle. Flying over the ocean was out of the question.

  “Now what?” Clash asked, staring up at the whifferdil lodged higher in the trees than either one of them could climb.

  “I saw the Wybbils’ camp not far from here,” Clash said. “They’re just outside the Bamboozle.”

  Wordlessly, they set off through the jungle. Even at night, the Bamboozle’s stem was hard to miss. They slunk in its general direction and found the campfire smoldering in the distance not far from the Bamboozle. A large pot hung above it on a makeshift tripod. The pilot was sleeping soundly a short distance away, but the other three Wybbils were nowhere to be seen. Their empty blankets were spread over the ground where they’d been sleeping during the wild whifferdil ride, so they couldn’t have gone far.

  The smell of stew wafted from the pot. Clash opened the lid and the two of them peered inside. Brown broth with jungle greens, something like yams, and chunks of meat floated in it.

  “At least this time they killed their food before eating it,” Glory whispered. “I wonder what kind of meat it is.”

  “You don’t think it’s one of our classmates?” Clash asked.

  Glory suppressed a gag and shook off the thought.

  “Maybe it’s Mandy,” Clash replied cheerfully.

  “We can only be so lucky.” Glory grabbed the big spoon hanging on the tripod and took a test sip.

  Smacking her lips. “Except for a weird minty aftertaste, tastes like beef and potatoes. Pretty good.”

  They took turns eating straight from the pot until they noticed muffled voices coming from the Bamboozle. That’s when they realized the red door was open.

  “Stay here,” she ordered Clash.

  Quietly she approached to peer inside. The star riders sat at the center of the Bamboozle looking glum.

  White Feather held Matthew’s slingboard in his lap. “This Tullahn contraption must taste bad to riplets.” He held it to his nose. “Too bad they don’t feel the same way about flesh.”

  “I can’t believe we fell asleep during the final phase,” Needle shook his head from side to side. “I can’t bear the thought of how they died.”

  “It’s your fault,” Bone said. “Ye were supposed to wake us up before midnight, when the riplets come.”

  “It was that tall Tullahn female with the bad attitude,” Bone offered.

  “You’ll have to narrow it down.”

  “The one with the high kick.” Bone said, bringing a small silver vile up to his nose. “I smell her foul stench all over this thing. She must have put the sleeping elixir in our stew.”

  Ahh, Mandy.

  “It works quickly through the sinuses, but takes hours through the stomach.”

  “I tell ye,” said White Feather, rubbing his nose and wincing. “Tullahns can’t be trusted, especially that Rock Collector.”

  “Place yourselves in her shoes,” said Needle. “She’s held onto the Elboni in hopes of saving her family.”

  “At the expense of ours,” Bone pointed out.

  “Aye,” said White Feather. “I’d have preferred battling a flock of dragons, coming at me with claws and teeth bared, rather than this one crafty child whom we cannot slay without becoming monsters ourselves.”

  “Ironic how it took a Tullahn to overcome a Tullahn,” Bone said. “The girl with the high kick, thinking herself clever, put the sleeping elixir in our stew when we weren’t looking, preventing us from retrieving the Rock Collector and her friend before the riplets came.”

  “The Rock Collector would have let Wybb die without a shred of guilt,” said Needle. “Yet, the thought of sending her to the extraction pools filled me with great sorrow. The fact that she went through the third door, and came back again, proves there was something exceptionally noble in her character.”

  “Not enough to redeem her. I never once felt the urge to give her the magic. And that’s how it works. If someone worthy completes the ritual—not only will we be contractually bound, but we will also feel happily compelled to give her all that she asks for. So says the book.”

  “They always blow the whistle eventually and give us whatever we want.” Needle shook his head. “I don’t understand why she didn’t.”

  “There be nothing to understand,” Bone said curtly. “She was stubborn. That be all.”

  “We shouldn’t of thrown her into the third door,” Needle said. “We’ve never done that to anyone before.”

  “Nobody’s caused so much trouble before,” Bone said. “The Rock Collector couldn’t be reasoned with. But I do feel terrible about the boy. We should have sent him home with the others. ‘Twas a terrible mistake.”

  “There be no excuse for our negligence,” White Feather finally joined in. “The fate of Wybb rested in the return of the Elboni. Now, we will never find it in time.”

  “Ye got to admit the Rock Collector was tenacious,” Needle said. “Admirably so.”

  “If ye mean annoyingly so,” Bone said, “then aye to that.”

  “Lady Gost will not be pleased.” White Feather said. “Now an extraction will be impossible.”

  “The riplets work much faster than extraction. Perhaps it be better this way,” Needle said.

  “For the thief, aye, but not for Wybb,” White Feather replied.

  The three Wybbils sat in silence. Glory pressed her back against the outside of the Bamboozle next to the door feeling like a criminal. The Wybbils actually felt remorse about her death and Needle seemed to have genuinely liked her. He even called her noble.

  She decided he wasn’t all that bad. In different circumstances, maybe they could have been friends. However, she was just trying to save her family. She tried to suppress the thought that perhaps that was what Needle was trying to do for his family as well. The trouble was there had to be a winner and a loser, either the Allys or a bunch of aliens. I’m not the bad guy here, she tried to convince herself. I’m just a kid trying to survive. Squelching the guilt, she decided it was time to get things moving again. Stepping just inside the doorway, she cleared her throat.

  “Ahem.”

  Three wrinkly heads pivoted.

  “Watcha doing?” she said brightly, just to annoy Bone.

  Jaws dropped at the sight of Glory twirling a strand of hair. A mixture of relief, anger and confusion crossed their faces. The Wybbils quickly found their footing. White Feather stood with the slingboard still tucked under his arm. Needle’s face broke into a smile. He took her by the elbow and led her outside.

  “How’d ye do it?” Bone demanded as he stomped out behind them. “How’d ye escape?”

  Glory didn’t want to implicate herself in the crash of the whifferdil, so dodged the question.

  “All that matters is that I passed the test that was impossible to pass. So now what?”

  The Wybbils didn’t answer. Instead, they scratched their heads, looking from Glory to the interior of the Bamboozle, and back to Glory.

  “How’d ye get out?” Bone demanded again. “How?”

  “Like I’d tell ye.” Glory reflected their previous comment back at them, feeling a little cocky.

  The grumbling Wybbils brought her back to the campsite, where Clash and the Pilot were engaged in casual conversation. The pilot had given him his canteen. The two appeared to be enjoying each other’s company. For some reason that really peeved her off.

  Bone ordered Glory and friend to sit on the blanket together and not to move a hair. Clash offered Glory the canteen. She drank every single drop and asked for
more.

  The pilot didn’t seem to mind. He snapped the lid back on and tucked it away.

  “Time to go?” the pilot asked the other Wybbils.

  “Soon.” White Feather said.

  Needle offered Glory more water.

  Bone suddenly stood with fists clenched, causing Glory to startle.

  “Ye cheated,” he accused, spittle flying. “Didn’t ye?”

  Clash stood to meet him, skinny fists clenched at his side. “She did not!”

  “I escaped the Bamboozle on my own,” Glory said with a toss of her ponytail. “Which according to your rules, means I can never be tested again—right?”

  “Those be the rules,” Needle said with a long sigh.

  Bone folded his arms and humphed loudly.

  “I still think ye cheated somehow, Thief.”

  “Call me what you want,” Glory said with a note of contempt. “At least I’m not a murderer of little girls like you’ll be when you turn me over to the extractors.”

  The Wybbils glanced at each other and shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Glory hoped they felt guiltier than ever. Nobody said anything for several minutes.

  White Feather spoke first. “The magic of Wybb is dying. Perhaps the Bamboozle’s strength has waned and that aided her escape. Let’s take our charge back to North Star Cathedral and await Lady Gost’s instructions.”

  “Aye,” said the other Wybbils.

  Glory interjected. “Take Clash home now.”

  “He had his chance,” Bone said. “Now he’ll have to wait.”

  “But...”

  “Don’t worry, no harm will come to him, but the same can’t be said about ye. We must return to the Cathedral post haste. ”

  The pilot went over to the edge of the forest and let out a scream. Someone had stolen his whifferdil. All eyes went to Glory who held up hands, feigning innocence.

  “You can check my pockets if you like.”

  Bone muttered something about her being a lying, cheating, sarcastic thief—the usual.

  “Nobody on this island except us,” White Feather said. “No doubt an animal ran off with it, hopefully it didn’t get very far.”

  Glory kept mum, exchanging sheepish grimaces with Clash. The pair followed behind the Wybbils until they found the whifferdil in the trees. The pilot fumed when he saw how high up it was, and how it was damaged. After a quick examination, he said it appeared to be fully operational. “Must have been a magpree.”

  “What’s a magpree?” Glory asked.

  “A large bird that likes to collect things.”

  “Definitely a magpree,” Clash quickly agreed.

  White Feather made him carry the slingboard, saying they didn’t want their Tullahn junk littering the island. The shoulder straps had been lost in the sand, no doubt eaten by the riplets, so he held the board to his chest.

  The four Wybbils carried the whifferdil because the pilot didn’t want to risk folding it in its delicate condition. When they returned to the beach where they had originally landed, the pilot climbed atop. “All aboard!” he yelled as steps came out the side of the craft.

  “Whoa!” exclaimed Clash, filming everything with Matthew’s Sliver. “I’m doing a data transfer directly to my Sliver account.”

  The Wybbils finished circled around it three times, and then did the same thing the opposite direction, making Clash and Glory do the same.

  “What’s this circling all about?” Clash whispered.

  Glory shrugged. “Tradition, I guess.” Fatigue hit her all at once. Legs felt like lead. Even Clash dragged his feet, hardly able to climb the stairs.

  Thunder rolled in the distance.

  The pilot suggested they delay the flight until the storm passed, but at the prodding of the emissaries, he sailed off through the air over white capped purple sea toward darkening horizon.

  “I’m so tired,” Clash yawned, hardly able to keep his eyes opened, but not for lack of effort. “We’re like Galactic Heroes or something, Glo. The places we’ve seen! This is so friggin’ amazing.” His head drooped and then popped back up. That’s when Glory realized how much she was dragging, too. Her feet felt like heavy bricks. A big yawn hollowed out her face.

  “Wild…” Clash’s head drooped again and popped up again. “Are we there yet?”

  “Don’t tell me ye ate the stew?” Bone said.

  “We ate the stew.” Clash said groggily. “Why?” And then fell backward against Needle, snoring like Scurvy Sailor.

  White Feather’s back looked like an inviting headboard, just a quick couple of winks. Slowly, Glory slouched forward, snuggling a cheek up against his cape.

  “Pray heavy rains hold off until cathedral,” the pilot’s voice trailed off, sounding eerily far away.

  The Sea of Serenity churned below. Dark clouds flashed with white. “Please, don’t hurt my friend.”

  “He’s perfectly safe with us,” Needle assured.

  “What about me?”

  Needle refused to answer.

  “Please, don’t take me to the extraction pools,” she said on the verge of slumber. “My little brother needs me…”

  Chapter 24

  Glory woke up in a room with walls made of round stones. Someone had dressed her in a plain white gown and had made a partial effort to wash her skin, but sand was still caked beneath her nails. Smudges of dirt were left here and there. Numerous cuts and bruises needed attention. She spied her clothes at the end of the dresser all neatly pressed and folded. The room’s adornment was strictly utilitarian with a cot, dresser, porcelain water pitcher and matching basin. Clash was nowhere in sight. The star riders had said no harm would come to him. She had to believe them.

  Glory went to the window to watch white-capped waves crash on the boulders below. Storm clouds swirled in threatening gray masses. She appeared to be in some kind of tower, probably somewhere inside of North Star Cathedral. Lightning flashed in the distance, but still exhausted, she returned to her got and curled up in a thin sheet. It generated its own heat and glowed like a nightlight—magic, she noted and fell asleep.

  She woke a few hours later to see her door was opened. Cautiously, she poked her head outside into a long corridor. Four stout Wybbils guards stood sentry outside.

  “Do you know where my friend is? He wears glasses and is a Tullahn like me.”

  No response.

  “Um, any chance I could have something to eat?”

  The guards made no reply. She gave up and closed the door.

  “My left arm for a bar of soap and a shower.”

  A basin bath would have to do. She poured water from the pitcher, noting the volume never went down. More magic. A bar of soap sat near the basin. She wetted it and rubbed it directly on her face. The bar took on a life of its own, sliding over her body of its own accord. As it glided over scratches and bruises, the stinging sensations instantly cooled. Overall, it felt like a gentle massage.

  Next, she wetted a washcloth, and it too became animated. She giggled as it pleasantly caressed her skin.

  Now for her hair. What a ratty mess! She released her ponytail, and picked up a fancy-looking brush. Its silver handle was embossed with butterflies and flowers. How lovely. As she pulled it through her hair, it took over the job. She was happy to let the brush deal with it. As the magic groomed her sore and aching body, she fished through her coat for the list of conditions. Noting the coat had been washed, she prayed it would still be there. She found it, unfolded it, and noticed the creases were slightly damp. She studied what she’d previously written. Numbers 1 through 3 were already filled in. Now that she had been to Wybb, more conditions were known. She chewed on the end of her stubby pencil studying the list, wondering if some of the numbered items were really the same condition, worried if a vital piece of the ritual. Starting with number 4, she started to amend. When finished, she studied the list some more. Wishing for unlimited credits was just too shortsighted. So she crossed it out. This was the chance to get something
that all the credits in the world couldn’t buy.

  How To Get A Wish (8 conditions)

  1) the wish must be for something very specific.

  unlimited credits

  2) elboni must be present.

  *How do I get a wybbil to my secret hiding place?

  3) wybbil must take an oath.

  oath (noun):

  a formal or legally binding pledge to do something

  4) oath must be uttered inside circle (see below)

  5) elboni must be inside a circle

  6) circle must be alive or once alive — ?

  7) must be in the good graces of the Elboni

  8) wybbil must feel compelled to grant the wish.

  “But are these the true eight?” She sighed. “How am I going to get a Wybbil to Mom’s grave and perform the ritual without them noticing?”

  The door suddenly swung open. She curled the list into her fist and grabbed the nearest bed sheet. A guard appeared.

  “Have you ever heard of knocking?”

  He made no apology, presented her with a tray of food, and then left without a word. The soap, towel, and brush had set themselves back onto the dresser. The brush had left her hair smooth and tangle free. She fished through the pile of clothes, making sure everything was in order. The torn and bloodied pajama bottoms were mended. The print still looked faded, but they were free of rips and stains. The rest of her clothes looked clean and smelled like strawberries.

  She quickly dressed and returned her hair to a ponytail. A glass decanter held red liquid. Glory sniffed it and decided it was berry juice. There was bread topped with white seeds, rolls swirled with nuts, and a tub of butter and jam. A jar full of...she held the jar closer...pickled eyeballs! It fumbled onto the bed, where she promptly covered it with a pillow.

  Eating and drinking until her stomach felt like it would rip, the last thing she thought of before falling asleep again was Dad, how he had bled on the front lawn, and the look of shock on his face as death closed in on him.

  “Time to get up,” a voice rumbled.