“That’s what I’ve been hoping for all along,” Glory replied. “And, it’s the reason why I went to so much trouble.”
The Wybbils grunted.
Bone looked her in the eye and asked, "What be your name, Rock Collector?"
"Uh,” the question surprised her, but come to think of it, none of them had bothered to exchange formal names. “Glory—Glory Alley."
"Ye will not be soon forgotten, Glory Alley. As ye wish, so shall it be done."
"I call the Nightburner wish!” Needle suddenly exclaimed, as Bone rushed in to claim his. He knelt in front of the stone and was joined by Bone, who said, “I call the drunk father wish!"
"Hey!” White Feather complained. “Why do I get stuck with the mother-lode of wishes?"
The three of them shoved each other, bouncing off the inside of the circle that held them, then gathered around the Elboni with the tools of their trade touching its surface.
"Ye ask for much,” Needle said most seriously. “So know ye this, Glory Alley, the mightier the wishes, the mightier the consequences. We reflect the image of the Elboni, yet we cannot grasp the scope of its knowledge and power. Therefore, we cannot predict the ramifications of your choices, but know that everything will change. Ye can take them back at present, but once granted, wishes stick forever.”
Glory hesitated a moment, then opened her arms wide. “Stick ‘em to me.”
"As ye wish.”
The Thunderbone, Nightburner, and Paraplume began to glow faint green. The Elboni seemed to bend the light, and the stone itself seemed to disappear, leaving a black a void. A ribbon of rainbow snaked out of the void, reaching toward Glory. Mesmerized, she barely heard White Feather's warning: "To bring your mother back to life again, the Elboni tells me that Tullah will be ordered as if she had never died. Ye will have lived yer life up to this moment, but the rest of your world will have lived up to another moment. Ye will be coming home to a different reality and there be no guarantees that it'll be a better one. May the magic of the Elboni be with ye.”
The Wybbil’s voice echoed and grew distant as the colors started at her ankles, coiling up both legs and around her waist and arms. She braced for another cosmic light show. The ribbon squeezed like a constrictor going in for the kill.
“What’s happening to her?” She heard the panic in Clash’s voice. “Make it stop!”
“Too late for that,” White Feather said. “Too late for her, too late for you, too late for Tullah!”
Floating beans of light fire worked from the Elboni, filling the cemetery, floating across the land as far as the eye could see, clinging to Clash, sticking to the grass, tombstones, fence posts, trees, and everything that she could see, except the Wybbils. A rumble came from deep below Tullah and the whole world shook.
“It stings!” Clash groaned as the beans of light seemed to devour him. “What have you done?”
“I take it back, I take it back!” Glory screamed, but the ribbons kept coming and the glowing beans fell upward from the stone like rain gone wrong. The beans totally engulfed Clash.
“Oh, crap!” she heard him call out, just before he imploded with a bang, leaving not a trace.
Glory tried to fight the ribbons of light, but her body no longer obeyed. The ribbons lifted her body off the ground and spun her around like the second hand on the face of a clock. She scrunched here eyes and closed her mouth tight, but the ribbons filtered through her skin like water invading a sponge, filling Glory’s insides until her heart, kidneys, lungs, and every organ seemed to expand. A sound like a thousand teakettles screaming at once ripped open her eardrums. Pain poured into every fiber, vein and artery until she thought she’d burst. Oh, Great Elboni, she begged. Remove yourself from me! The pressure didn’t stop. Sure she was going to die, she finally exploded into a billion tiny stars, dissolving into the universe.
As fast as it happened, it ended. Her body was whole again. Everything looked the same. Except Clash was nowhere to be seen. The monument wasn’t there anymore. The sky riders were gone. No trace of the Elboni remained. All was quiet in the graveyard.
She teetered in the snow. Warm blood trickled from her eyes, nose and ears. When she touched her head, fingers came back covered in blood. So weak…one knee collapsed…and then the other. Crawling a little ways, she tried to stand, but the effort was too much. She fell over onto her back. Metallic-tasting spittle filled her mouth and drooled over her chin. The first rays of dawn appeared like a bubble of light against a velvety black horizon. She lay there on the cold hard ground unable to rise. Snowflakes silently spiraled down from the sky blanketing her in white.
Chapter 31
A plastic mask covered her nose and mouth. The white lights overhead were so bright she felt like they were burning her retinas. Tubes dangled above as strangers in blue scrubs wheeled her down a corridor on a gurney. Amid the sea of unfamiliar faces, Dad’s whiskery chin came into view. She wanted to call for him, but her voice wouldn’t cooperate, so she reached for him instead. His warm hand embraced hers and then everything faded to gray.
Time passed, but she didn’t know how much. Steady electronic blips sounded from somewhere far away. Eyelids flickered, but the effort to keep them opened quickly waned.
Someone nearby was speaking. His voice started out has muffles, but gradually became clearer. Brandon?
"When she didn’t show up for supper we didn’t think much of it,” he said. “You know how she likes to wander. When bedtime rolled around and there was still no sign of her, we called the police. She kept having dreams about Queen’s Mesa, couldn’t stop talking about it, so I thought maybe she went up there and got lost. Guess I was wrong.”
A girl spoke next, although her voice was vaguely familiar, she couldn’t quite place her name. “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Glory heard her say. “I thought the same thing. We went up there together last week, so I thought I might be of help.”
Am I dreaming? Glory wondered. Where am I?
“That was brave of you,” Brandon said. “But you’d only have slowed down the professional rescuers.”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” the girl replied. “Glory wasn’t there anyway. It’s a mystery how she ended up at the cemetery.”
“The whole thing is bizarre,” Brandon said. “It was pure luck the way the groundskeeper found her.”
“Hello,” an older-sounding male voice interrupted the conversation. “I just told your parents the good news. Your sister’s core temperature is right where it should be now. And all the tests came back normal.”
“That’s what we’ve been waiting to hear,” said Brandon. “Thank you, doctor.”
“There will be another evaluation when she wakes, but for now I’m going to have to ask the both of you to wait outside.”
“Dr. Hayhurst,” said the girl. “Glory’s been my best friend since the second grade. Please, tell me she’s going to be okay?”
“Friend?” Dr. Hayhurst questioned. “You told me you were her sister.”
“Don’t worry,” Brandon said. “Olivia is practically family. Mom and Dad thought it would be a good idea to have her here.”
Olivia? The name was familiar and a pretty face flitted to mind, but it invoked unpleasant feelings. If we’re such good friends, why do I want her to go away?
“Okay then,” the doctor replied. “And don’t you worry; Glory is a strong young lady. She’s going to be fine—just fine.”
Brandon leaned in so close to Glory that his breath warmed her ear. “Hang tough, little sis. I love you.” Something soft and wet pressed against her forehead, but only for a moment. She blindly swished him away like a bothersome fly. “Don’t mess with me,” she moaned, unsure if she had thought the words or said them out loud.
“She’s on the verge of waking,” the doctor said. “Get your parents.”
Gradually, over the next twenty-four hours, Glory fully woke. After countless medical and psychological exams, and hospital personnel coming in and
out of the room, a beefy police officer with a broom mustache entered her room. Dad came in with him. The cop was nice enough, so Glory didn’t know why his presence made her so uneasy. When pressed as to what happened, try as she might, the last days of her life were shrouded in dark shadows. Her memories were there, like a dog on a leash itching to jump over its fence, now if she could break free and make the jump.
Dad and the cop brought Glory up to speed as far as they were able, hoping she could fill in the missing gaps of the last few days. She tried, but ended up rubbing her temples in frustration.
“I have nothing,” she said, totally exhausted.
Glory didn’t remember dozing off in the middle of the conversation, but woke to found the room empty of everyone except her parents. Dad was sleeping in a recliner, head back, snoring. Mom sat in a matching chair, chestnut hair draped over her shoulders as she flipped through a magazine.
Glory stared at her, eyes wide, uncomprehending. Mom was reading Cooks Quarterly. She wetted a finger to turn the page. Why did watching Mom do something so ordinary make Glory want to let out an elated whoop? It was only Mom, but something about her seemed different, mysterious, and totally wonderful. A tidal wave of warmth coursed through Glory’s body. The intensity threatened to let loose in a flood of tears, so she looked away from Mom, choosing to focus on the stripes of sunlight coming through the blinds instead.
She noticed the poster board hanging on the wall. Someone must have put it there while she was sleeping. Actually, it was more like a giant Get Well Card. A large photo of the Sling Team was glued at the center. Names and well wishes were written in different colored markers and inks. She squinted to make out the words, and the players’ faces on the photo, but the poster hung too far away. The only part she could see clearly was written in thick red marker at the top:
We miss you.
Hope you’re back in the game soon!
Why had the Sling Team taken such an interest in her recovery? Weird, just like everything else since she woke up, the whole world seemed slightly out of out of kilter.
The adults said that she had been found in the cemetery covered with scratches, cuts, bruises, a nasty bite on her forearms, plus tiny burn holes that went through her shoes and into skin. A wicked slice on her ankle needed stitches. Blood had oozed from all of her bodily orifices. Everyone had expected the worst, but the baffled doctors hadn’t found any sign of internal trauma. Except the initial hypothermia, she seemed healthy and unharmed.
Glory was incredulous of the whole story. Why only yesterday...she was...she was what? Feeling like the only outsider on an elaborate inside joke, she made two fists and pounded down on the bed rail, causing a terrific clang.
“Why can’t I remember?!”
Dad, who had been dozing in a chair, startled awake.
Mom set down her magazine, giving a reassuring smile.
“I know this must be a very confusing time for you, sweet baby girl. The doctors say to be patient; your memories will come back, eventually.”
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Dad announced with a lovable goofy grin.
Mom rang the nurse’s station. When a woman’s voice came over the wall speaker, Mom announced, “She’s awake.”
Glory turned her attention to the bed controls, bringing her body into a semi-sitting position. Several people had already quizzed her about the more recent past and she had gotten a C minus.
The name of the governor, the year, and the questions to the test given last week at school rolled out easy enough. Names of classmates weren’t a problem, yet she was confused about who her friends were, and a great many other things.
When Brandon told her she was on the Sling Team, she had laughed in his face. The last few years were murky and the present wasn’t much clearer.
Dad and Mom stood at the foot of the bed holding each other, looking worried, but somehow younger. She swore Dad’s hair used to be mostly gray. Now, it was mostly blond and his skin had a healthy peachy hue.
And, Mom, despite looking like she hadn’t slept in days, was positively radiant. Glory wanted to run to her with arms wide open, but when she tried to get up, her mother made her stay in the bed. Mom leaned over and hugged her tight. Glory squeezed back, not ever wanting to let go, a hot tear falling down her cheek. “Mother.” The word felt like nourishing, like chicken soup on a cold day.
“Too tight,” Mom squeaked, loosening Glory’s grip.
“Sorry.”
Tucking the sheet up under Glory’s chin, mom urged her to lie back down, and then kissed the top of her head, retiring to the chair again a moment later. No matter where her mother moved in the room, Glory’s eyes followed, soaking up the sight of her, as if Mom was a drink of water and she a thirsty towel.
Later, the twins came in, followed by Patrice, who looked unusually pretty with her frizzy hair smoothed out and surprisingly clear complexion. Pink lipstick adorned normally pale and naked lips. Used to seeing big sis in baggy flannel shirts, it was nice to see her wearing girly clothes that actually fit.
“You look good for a change,” Glory said.
Randy and Danny snickered.
“Uh, thanks, I guess.”
“Is that a Ross & Wesson jacket?” Glory asked, noting the name embroidered on her sister’s jacket.
“Of course. Did you hear that Jason Belway was in a terrible car accident the same day you disappeared?” Patrice asked. “It was all over the news. They say only machines are keeping him alive now.”
“Darkness everywhere.” Glory said quietly, melancholy descending like a dark cloud. “Screams rise from the lake of despair. Who can help them now?” Unsure where the words came from, or what they meant, she turned her head toward the window, giving a mournful sigh.
Patrice quickly changed the subject.
The conversation that followed was enlightening, yet disturbing. According to her three visiting siblings, there was a family trip to the beach last summer. And Randy kept talking about the family dog, Scooter, and their adventures with him in obedience class. Patrice brought up the girls on the cheerleading team as if they were her friends instead of her tormentors, and to top it off, she pretended to be dating the star athlete of her high school.
“We can’t afford to go on vacations,” Glory reminded, wondering why her siblings were spinning tales. Although her mind was blurry, portions of information came pouring out. “We all know the cheerleaders at school won’t give you the time of day, Patrice. Your boyfriend doesn’t go to high school, he’s in jail, or at least he was for a night. And what’s this bull about a dog?”
Patrice and her brothers looked at each other with uncertainty, and then looked back at Glory like she’d lost her marbles.
“Go ahead, Randy. Go ahead, Danny. Tell me I’m bonkers, crazy, gone fishing, whatever.”
The silence that followed was disappointing and a little eerie. Where were the insults? Where was the sarcasm?
“What are you waiting for, numbskull? Go ahead, make fun of me, and egg each other on like mindless idiots, because that’s what you do best.”
“Glory,” Randy scratched his head. “We make fun of the geeks, sure, but you’re one of the cool kids.”
“Or at least you used to be,” replied Danny.
“Who’s my best friend?” Glory demanded to know.
“Olivia, of course,” said Randy. Glory looked to Patrice, who nodded in affirmation.
“Wrong!” Glory snapped. “It’s Besnik Gundisalv.”
“Bessie Gundi-who?” Danny asked.
“Clash.”
“What about him?” asked Danny.
“Isn’t he my best friend?”
Danny snorted with laughter. “That bucktoothed nerd with the glasses who looks like he stuck his finger in a light socket? He’s not your friend. Why just last week, you and your little gang got in trouble for throwing his books out of the bus window.”
“Liars!” Glory accused, spit flying out of her mouth. “I ca
n’t stand Olivia—she’s a stuck-up snob. And I’d never treat Clash like that, so you better shut-up or I’ll knock your stinkin’ heads off!”
The twins held up their palms and backed off. Patrice ran out the room and returned with a nurse, who ordered everybody to leave.
Over the next day, the more Glory heard about the life she didn’t remember, and the more she was questioned about it, the more withdrawn she became. If only she could get at that section of memory closed off to her, then she’d know for certain if the world had gone mad, or if it was just her.
The doctors speculated she was suffering from selective amnesia, resulting from a memory too terrible to deal with all at once. They warned the rest of the Alleys not to try to pry it out of her. Everyone needed to wait until she was ready to talk about it. The amnesia was expected to be temporary and the sooner she got back into a regular routine, the sooner she’d remember.
Home seemed familiar—but not. The house, over a hundred years old, looked invitingly new, with fresh siding and bright yellow paint. A sturdy white swing sprinkled with virgin snow hung under the porch and swayed in the winter breeze. Inside, through the front door, warm wooden floors gleamed with polish. Neutral paint covered the spotless walls. The staircase banister looked beautiful adorned with greenery and white lights. A fat pine tree glittered at the corner of the living room in anticipation of Father’s Winter Day. The smell of pinesap filled her nose.
“The house is gorgeous, Mom,” she commented. “But it’s not supposed to be like this…”
As she climbed the stairs, Dad hovered behind her, just in case she lost her balance. When her limbs started to tremble and her legs gave way, he was there to scoop her up. She felt foolish when Dad carried her rest of the way to her room.
Mom followed behind, fussing like a mother hen, and tucked Glory snugly into bed. The crisp sheets felt cool next to her skin. The smell of baking bread drifted through the house.
Glory Alley and the Star Riders (The Glory Alley Series) Page 28
