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

by C. Deanna Verhoff

  Clash’s face twisted in something akin to disgust. Heat rose to Glory’s cheeks.

  “Enough of this,” said Needle. “Did the Rock Collector or her friend send a message out beyond this woods?”

  “A hundred and nineteen messages came in as soon as we arrived on Tullah, but zero have gone out beyond this woods. By the looks of things only the two gadgets here have had back and forth communication.”

  “What did they write to each other?”

  White Feather put the Paraplume to his head again. “For some reason the Paraplume can’t access it.”

  “It was just chitchat about the game.” Clash lied.

  She was so close to getting everything she wanted, but just as close to losing everything she had. Suddenly, Clash made a dash for the woods.

  White Feather immediately clutched Glory’s bicep as if he expected her to bolt. The other two star riders ran into the trees after Clash.

  “Where’s your friend going?” White Feather gave her a hard shake. “Tell me!”

  “I don’t know!” she replied in all honestly. “I really don’t know.”

  “He’s going for help—yes?”

  “The nearest house is two hours by foot,” Glory said. “The graveyard is only an hour. By the time he could get help and come back with it, we’ll be long gone by then.”

  He growled a little and continued to squeeze her arm.

  A minute later, the familiar whiz of a hovering slingboard came from the trees. Clash burst through the trees on Matthew’s slingboard, speeding four feet above the ground, stirring up a frenzy of dry compost. He sang as a ball of light cast from the Nightburner gave pursuit. Clash ducked as it harmlessly whizzed past him into the forest. Clash leaning to the side, steering the board in a circle around the small clearing, singing the whole time. Leave it to him to belt out the theme song to Galactic Heroes in a time like this. “Onward, ever, onward our galactic heroes go. Riding into battle, hear their engines roar!” Clash turned the slingboard around to circle in the other direction, while Bone hurled nets made from bony material which missed their mark.

  If Clash fell at that speed, he’d snap his neck. “My friend had nothing to do with taking the Elboni!” Glory said, trying to intercept Needle and White Father as they darted after her friend. Bone continued to hold her tight, as he used the Thunderbone in the other hand, trying to net Clash. “I heard Lady Gost tell you to bring him home and nothing more. He’s not the one getting extracted. So, please stop. Please! Chasing him is wasting precious time. Just let him go.”

  “Aye, Tullahn,” White Feather said cautiously. “For the first time ye make a little sense.”

  “Desist,” Bone called to the other Wybbils. “He’s not important. Chasing him will only slow us down.”

  Needle and Bone skidded to a halt panting, while Clash and slingboard vanished into the trees, the sound of the whirring motor and song fading away—“The mission is freedom from governments and kings in every world and galaxy where tyranny reigns.”

  Glory felt inspired by her friend’s spirit in the face of danger. My mission is to save my family; I can do this, Onward, ever onward.

  “The Tullahn trash we ordered them to carry out of the Bamboozle turned out to be transportation.” Bone wrinkled his nose. “It sped over the ground, weaving through trees like Kalida’s white-crested reeloo birds.”

  “I noticed,” White Feather said. “At least now we know what the Slivers were chatting about—escape.”

  “Make a note in the log back home regarding how fast technology has changed here on Tullah,” Bone said. “I don’t understand how we could have been so far off. When we searched the Rock Collector’s home the technology there was decades behind what we’ve seen here today.”

  “Well, there’s your mistake,” Glory offered. “My family can’t afford the latest technology, and my father’s paranoid about the government listening in, so whatever you found at my house WAS decades behind the rest of the planet. I’m surprised you guys didn’t know that. Don’t you keep track of such things?”

  “The universe be a big place and Tullah ranks very low on the list of important things to know about. So the answer be NO, we don’t keep track of such things.”

  Glory took in a sharp breath, feeling insulted.

  “We’ve underestimated Tullah advancement twice now,” Bone said. “And I do not want to make that mistake again.”

  He took the red Sliver, tossed it in the air, and batted it with the Thunderbone. It sailed over the trees and disappeared into the darkness. Next, he slapped a fat-fingered hand slapped over Glory’s wrist, forcing her to let go of the blue Sliver.

  “Hey!”

  With that, Bone hit it into the air with the end of the Thunderbone. It soared impressively high over the trees. She wouldn’t be surprised if it landed a mile away. “Hurt or not,” he shoved her forward. “Time to get a move on.”

  A white fluff floated gently to the ground. Then another and another. Glory used to love the first snowfall of the year, but tonight it only served to make the world seem colder and more indifferent than ever. Needle’s light chased away the night as they navigated through the woods. Snow drifted lazily in a swirling breeze, coating tree limbs in white icing, but melting upon contact with the ground. Now that she was on her own world, her courage was gaining strength. That was a brilliant move by Clash. The slingboard would give him a huge head start and time to put the circle into place.

  "Father Winter comes in a few nights,” she said to fill the awkward silence. “At least I think so. What day is it anyway?"

  The Wybbils said nothing, so she kept talking. Mindless chatter was part of the strategy.

  “Does Wybb have any legends about an old man with a white beard who brings children gifts in the middle of the night?”

  No answer.

  They walked through the woods in silence for another ten minutes before Glory found her spunk again. “If this is going to my last holiday on Tullah, I want to make the best of it, so I’m going to pretend that you three are sugar plum elves from Father Winter’s castle.”

  Knowing Clash seemed to have come through gave her confidence a boost. Act defeated, but prepare for victory.

  "How much further to the grave?” Bone grumbled.

  "Not far.” Glory took them over the ridge where they looked upon a lonely cemetery surrounded by a wrought iron fence and gnarled trees. There on the ground, the Nightburner’s light bounced off something sparkly blue.

  Could it be? She pretended to tie shoes, and on the sly picked up the blue Sliver. Fingers wrapped around the polymer case. She felt the dent rather than saw it. The thing was probably ruined, but surely, some of the data was retrievable. She slid into her pocket, praying nobody would notice.

  An irregular break in the clouds let the moon shine through. The marble gravestones looked cold and shiny under the pale light.

  "Why are those arched stones lined up so?” Bone inquired.

  "They mark where dead people are buried.” Glory explained. “We couldn’t afford one for my mom, so I’m going to make her one myself—at least that was my plan until you three got me sentenced to death.”

  Glory glanced out of the corner of his eye, wanting to see if the star riders felt at least a little guilty, but their faces remained impassive. Glory frowned and then told them to follow.

  As they climbed over the fence, White Feather asked, "Dead Tullahns be in the ground beneath each of these stones?"

  "Yep."

  “I guess I already knew that,” he said. “But a bit disturbing, nonetheless.”

  Glory stopped walking, looking at the three Wybbils in confusion. “What do you do with dead people on Wybb?”

  “Not an issue,” Bone said.

  “Don’t Wybbils die?”

  “Well, yes, “Bone said. “But those that pass on don’t get buried. At death a Wybbil’s body evaporates into stardust, floating upward, not downward into dirt.”

  Glory raised an e
yebrow.

  "Your last request be a strange one,” Bone said, rubbing a finger inside his shirt collar. “Do ye really like the idea of being buried?"

  "Just like treasure." Glory responded, pretending to sound pleased at the idea.

  The Wybbils glanced at each other, shrugging.

  “You guys act as if you've never known anyone who’s died.”

  "I’ve known plenty of Wybbils who have died,” Needle said. “But my kind be so long-lived that I’ve only gone through it twice in my own family.”

  “At your age—you’re kidding?”

  The Wybbils shook their heads. Needle explained, “A person doesn’t travel as far as we have without seeing death at its worst, even with other species it be something I’ve never gotten used to.”

  As if concerned about waking the dead, Bone’s usually loud voice became a snarly whisper. "Show us where ye want to be interred.”

  "Interred? What the heck does that mean?”

  Bone rolled his eyes. “Show us where to bury ye after the extraction.”

  “Why didn’t you just say so?” Glory didn’t try to hide her annoyance. Being nice was getting her nowhere. Time for action.

  “My Mom’s over there in the welfare lot. I’ll show you the exact spot."

  Chapter 29

  As they walked over grass stiffened by the cold, she continued to talk, hoping the more she blabbed on about stupid things, the less the men would listen, thus allowing her to slide in the forbidden word without the sky riders noticing.

  “I wish my mom had a stone marker,” she said, “but my family can’t afford one.”

  “Be careful with that word,” said White Feather.

  “You mean wish—why?” Glory tested, arching one brow.

  “Ye know why.”

  Glory led them to the poor section of the cemetery—a field of dirt devoid of grave markers. It bothered her to think of Mom out here all alone and forgotten, but she was working on remedying that. Despite the cold, her palms felt sweaty. Her heart thumped all the way up to her ears. Victory or death seemed the only possible outcomes.

  As they got closer to the grave, she scanned the ground, hoping to find a circle of some kind. Oh, Clash, please have come through! And there it was, sticking out of the snow in just enough places to let her know of its presence, a huge ringlet of willow switches coiled together like a rope. Back in the cathedral, the sky riders had said: things that once had life, but don’t any longer, makes the best vessels for conducting magic. The blueprint of life be there, but it’s neutralized, making the consequences predictable. Willow switches were perfect—way to go, Clash.

  The pale switches blended in with the faded grass and formed a circle about eight feet in diameter. In places, Clash had covered it with leaves, and in other places he had used loose grass, creating a subtle ring over Mom’s grave. He must have worked furiously to get it done so fast. She stole a glance around the perimeter, knowing he was probably lurking nearby.

  Glory’s heart skipped a beat when the first sky rider walked over the willow branches and into the circle. Bone had entered the lair and hadn’t even noticed!

  Neither did his companions. So far, so good. Spreading an arm over a bare patch of ground, Glory announced, "Meet my mother.”

  The sky riders gave her a somber nod in unison.

  “My dance in the daisies is gonna be cut short, but on the bright side, I’ll get to see my mother again real soon.” A Father Winter’s tune came to mind, and she sang the words out loud. “On this night, on this most wonderful of nights, children’s wishes all come true.” The song gave her a chance to throw around the offending “wish” word some more, as she pretended to search about for some unseen object on the ground. “On this night, on this most wonderful of nights, hearts and spirits are renewed.” Suddenly, she stopped singing and stood up with a jerk. “Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “It all looks the same—what if you sky riders can’t find this exact spot again?"

  "We'll find it," they assured.

  Glory made her lower lip tremble and it wasn’t hard to do. Thoughts of failure loomed large. She still wasn’t positive she’d worked out the true eight conditions. And time was running out. She sniffled and tried to muster up tears. The waterworks wouldn’t come though, so she tried whining instead. "What if you forget this exact place and accidently bury me in the wrong grave?"

  “That wouldn’t happen,” Bone said.

  “You can’t know that for sure.” Glory needed to cry to make her act convincing. Find some bad thoughts, she told herself. Considering the circumstances, it was pretty easy. The magic she worked so hard for was slipping away, and a drawn-out painful extraction was only a short journey via the Paraplume away. Jagged sobs worked their way through her solid frame, but she still couldn’t squeeze out the waterworks. Would they buy it?

  Bone was shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. That was a good sign.

  Needle patted her on the shoulder. “Please, don’t be so upset. We will not forget.”

  Glory plopped down onto the ground, resting her head between knees, covering her face with both hands, wailing like a four-year-old. “All I want is to be buried with my mom. Is that too much to ask?”

  “Maybe we can mark the grave before we leave,” White Feather suggested. “That way ye won’t have to worry about us finding it again.”

  Glory wiped her nose on a sleeve.

  “You’d do that for me?”

  All three nodded. “Aye,” they said.

  Glory’s head popped up. “I know just what to do.” As much as she hated seeing them step out of the circle, it was a necessary risk. She brought them to the corner of the lot where her usual stash of stones was sorted by size. “I bring her a present on her birthdays and every Father Winter’s Day. I wish I could buy her a real marker, with words engraved in it and stuff, but this pile of rocks is the next best thing.”

  “There’s that word again,” said Bone.

  “Ignore her,” White Feather said. “She’s doing it just to be irritating.”

  Glory hid a grin. She could see the words on the game board clearly in her mind: Seek, Find, Persist, Conquer. I’m in the persist stage of the game, she told herself, and my dragon is in my opponent’s lair, ready to pilfer the treasure chest. But Grandpa had turned the tables on her enough to know that anything could go wrong.

  She cleared her throat, carefully lining up the pieces.

  “I wanted to build my mother a ginormous monument for a Father Winter’s Day present, so I was gathering prime specimens for a few months now,” she pointed to the half-hidden pile of stones near the fence at a line of evergreens. “If you let me finish it, I promise to be quiet on the return trip.”

  "How long will it take you?” Bone asked.

  “Not even an hour.”

  “No, that’s too long,” said Bone.

  “If you help me it will take ten minutes—tops.”

  “Together we shall work then,” said Needle. “But, let’s get on with it.”

  They walked over to the evergreens. The whole while White Feather grumbled at Needle for agreeing to help.

  “I bet you wish you were already back on Wybb,” Glory said.

  Bone curled up the corner of his lip, giving a slight growl, while the others continued to scoop up loads of stones. They followed Glory back to Mom’s grave.

  “Show us where ye want them.”

  Glory led them over the intertwined willow switches into the middle of the circle. The three of them stood over the grave with rocks in hand, waiting for instruction.

  By the mountains of Tullah, it dawned on her that not one, but three Wybbils stood inside the circle. This meant not one wish, but three, more than she ever dreamed possible. She had been through a lot since the incident in her bedroom, where she had grabbed Bone’s leg, and wished to be rich. Asking for credits again would surely alert the Wybbils to the plan at hand, but that was no longer what she wanted. No, she wanted something far greater than th
at, but she had never considered the possibility of more than one wish. This was too much pressure. Her mind drew a blank and her teeth began to chatter

  “Tell us where to stack them,” Needle said.

  She stood back and studied the area.

  “Stack them up by size with biggest at the bottom, smallest at the top. It has to be perfect."

  “Who made her our supervisor?” Bone complained to the other Wybbils, but kept on working.

  The Wybbils were marking her grave with about as much emotion as someone burying a potato. And, as soon as they finished, they intended to turn her over to the executioners. Fear washed over her in waves now.

  "It sure is n-n-nice of you guys to g-go to so much trouble.” She faked gratitude with a cheesy smile. They kept working and Glory kept talking. Their breaths turned to puffs of fog clouding the air as they labored. She eyed the beautiful spike in Needle’s hat. With a light like that, she’d never have to worry about battery power again. On the spur of the moment, she decided to make it one of her wishes. Glory thrust her shaking hands deeper into pockets, humming and talking about everything and nothing. The star riders carefully checked the makeshift monument without looking up. Time to make the next move, perhaps the riskiest part of the ritual.

  "This place is sp-sp-spooky at night, but it sure is p-p-pretty under the snow,” she paused. Here I go, she sucked in a breath. "That Nightburner you have there is a mighty fine light—I wish it were mine.”

  She grimaced, hoping that hadn’t sounded too obvious. The Wybbils kept working. Her chest tightened. Oh, goodness, I’m so close!

  "You know what?”

  “What?” asked Needle.

  “I wish my mother was alive, and then I wouldn’t have to build her a monument at all.” She tried to hide the wish under a deluge of words. “Aren’t mothers great…I mean do Wybbils have mothers too?” She winced at the dumb question; sure she had just blown it.

  "Of course, Rock Collector,” said Needle, brushing the dirt off his hands onto his trousers. “The spot be thoroughly marked. Let's be off."

  Glory slowly exhaled. She had to think of another wish—and fast.