The Questory of Root Karbunkulus - Quill

by Kamilla Reid

  The

  Questory

  Of

  Root

  Karbunkulus

  Quill

  Kamilla Reid

  ~~~

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2010 Kamilla Reid

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ISBN: 978-0-9866741-1-2

  Series Cover Designs by R’tor John Maghuyop

  Visit http://rootkarbunkulus.kamillareid.com to order additional copies

  PRAISE FOR ROOT KARBUNKULUS

  “Five Stars!”

  Teens Read Too

  “It was fantastic! I’ve been reading Root Karbunkulus sooooooo much it seems like I read it every day!”

  Fenya, age 11

  "I rarely find a book that I enjoy that has enough fantasy in it but yours does!"

  Hayley P, age 14

  “Your book is so addictive! I’ve read it three times now!”

  Samantha, age 12

  “Beguiling and clever!”

  Families.com

  “Strikingly beautiful!”

  Kathleen’s Book Reviews

  “A gorgeous and magical world! I look forward to recommending it to my students!”

  The Reading Zone

  “Had me on the edge of my seat the whole time!”

  Teen Summer Reading Club

  “A great book! It was awesome! You are so creative!”

  Brooke P, age 11

  “I read A LOT of books and often get bored but I could hardly put yours down!”

  Asia, age 12

  To Lori and Nina

  Mmmhmmm….mmmhmmm

  Phhfftt!

  Table of Contents

  1 TINTS

  2 BULK POO

  3 THE WHEEL

  4 THE HEMOSTYLUS

  5 TAMIK CHILLENLY

  6 SPECIAL GUESTS

  7 THE MAVEN OF MYSTIC BEINGS

  8 HALOEM QUILL

  9 NO SUCH LUCK

  10 DEAD TREADERS

  11 KANGAROO COURT

  12 TO MAKE MATTERS WORSE

  13 AND WORSE…

  14 THE GLAWERING

  15 OH YAY, A SWAMP PIG

  16 DROPPING BAGGAGE

  17 EKLADIANS

  18 THE SAGE MOTHER

  19 THE OCULUS eye

  20 PUNISHMENT

  21 CPR

  22 THE BROTSWIN

  23 AN INTRUDER

  24 BAD IDEA

  25 THE SONG

  26 VULCHERK AND CO.

  27 PASSWORDS AND PAYMENT

  28 THE CURATOR

  29 TAKE THE SNAKE

  30 THE DROWNED CITY

  31 999 LAMPFIRE LANE

  32 THE DRINKHOUSE

  33 MURDER

  34 THE WHITE WOODS

  35 GUT OIL

  36 THE SILKEN OXBACK

  37 THE FINAL CURTAIN

  38 THE GIFT

  39 SOARING

  40 DOWN TO FIVE

  41 PROMISES

  A SNEAK PEEK…

  1

  TINTS

  Krism wiped the blood from his nose. It was spilling into his mouth and the taste was making him feel sick. He looked around for a familiar face among the fifty or so kids that had gathered to watch the fight. How’d they get here so fast? Had they known he was going to be ambushed by these boys?

  Certainly Krism had been used to this sort of thing. Growing up in service to the Murk Lord was not without its fair share of beatings. But wasn’t that supposed to be all behind him now? Apparently not. He swerved around to face his attackers. Though there were four of them and they had caught him by surprise, he was still standing. His time at Hotel Gub had served him well. His strength was coming back. His skin was thicker.

  Peripherally, he could see a shuffling exchange of money through the crowd. Bets were being placed, odds obviously against him. And now that cute blond girl in pink had arrived and pushed her way to the front. Krism smiled. She was as golden as the sun he’d longed for his whole life. Even more so.

  “What’s so funny, Tint?” One of the boys pushed him.

  Krism swung his fist. And missed. The crowd laughed and jeered. Some hissed. Some even spit. What was it about this that hurt so much? How could this be worse than his suffering under the Murklord?

  “Filthy Tint!” called someone from the sides. Krism turned his head and - Bam! - a fist had caught his ear and clanged its hatred down the canal. Cheers sprang from the crowd. But what these kids didn’t know was that a volcano of rage had been gurgling and spitting and holding back long, long before. Krism could feel its acid inside his stomach.

  An inky, bloody eruption set his eyes red.

  He lunged.

  Krism was grabbed by his shoulders and pulled away. His knuckles were raw. He had been pounding a boy with his fists over and over without even knowing it.

  “Enough!” The words brought Krism swimming back and looking into the dark, hot eyes of a boy. A boy with a crude scar on his forehead.

  The mark of the Murk Lord.

  The boy helped Krism to his feet where the growling horde of spectators was being held back by a band of rivals. Tints. At least twenty of them, armed and lethal. They stood between Krism and the crowd. He could see, in this silent hold the invisible lines of hate.

  One of the fighting boys scrambled up with a bloodied nose and was caught by his friends. “Pigs!” he spat at the new arrivals.

  Krism could feel the tautness of the air. In front of him, his brothers and sisters, leftovers of the Murk Lord stood against the mob, poised to fight. For him.

  The dark-eyed boy let go of Krism’s shoulders. He turned to him again. He was tall and angry. He and all his gang wore strips of grey, like limp, leather shadows. And on all of their foreheads the crude remnants of a broken circle scarred them inside and out.

  “You shouldn’t be there, in that castle. You should be with your kind,” the boy said to Krism.

  “Yeah, y’ugly, black Tint!” a girl on the other side of the invisible line spewed. A grey leather elbow checked her.

  Krism wiped the back of his hand over the warm blood on his lip. His tongue could taste its iron. His eyes wandered back to the scene and scanned for answers. Maybe this boy was right, this brother. Maybe Krism shouldn’t be here where he clearly didn’t belong. Where he was despised.

  In the sea of faces, he spied the blond girl. Her eyes were wide and dark, locked on him again. She was flanked by two sneering friends but nothing came from her. Root had warned him about her. She’d told him to stay away, that this girl was trouble, that she hated Tints. But her eyes…they were so beautiful.

  Krism pulled away from the gang leader. He walked slowly and purposefully until he stood right in front of Hilly. Hilly straightened and he could see her try to catch her breath. His own breath was fast and hard. He said nothing.

  In the next instant he was kissing her and nothing else existed.

  Hyvis Punyun had seen the crowd from a distance and never being one
to miss a beat of gossip she approached with her authority clearly in tact.

  She would never in her life forget what she saw.

  She screamed. A pitch fully loaded with rage, hatred and fear.

  Krism turned. The woman was already almost upon him. Her eyes shone of venom. “You monster. You will step away from her or so help me…”

  Krism stepped back.

  “Hilly, baby doll. Are you okay?” Hyvis wrapped herself around her daughter. As Hilly buried her face into her mother’s folds Hyvis’ eyes landed on Krism and narrowed viciously. “You will pay for this…back away…now…all of you!” She threw all her weight upon the crowd. As she maneuvered her daughter away she paused at the leader of the dark gang. “I swear…this is not over.”

  2

  BULK POO

  There is nothing…no thing…in the entire universe worse than the smell of a wet Hovermutt freshly rolled in Bulk poo.

  “Hold still, Stogie!” Root yanked her shaggy companion closer to the spouting mouth of warm water. But Stogie was much, much bigger than her and according to Stogie there was nothing worse than a bath.

  “Aw, c’mon, Stogie! You stink! You are not going on the Quest tomorrow smelling like this!”

  Even as she said it, Root could hardly believe it. Finally, after twelve long weeks resting and recuperating at Hotel Gub she and her teammates would be seeking DréAmm’s next mysterious artifact. And tonight at the Gala she would finally get to find out what that mysterious artifact was.

  “Why happy days to you, Miss Root Karbunkulus!” Elgart appeared from around a corner.

  Root smiled. Elgart was always covered in chalky dust, which made sense because he was always fixing up the House of Gub. Root wondered how it was that he remained cheerful when, despite his best efforts, it seemed the castle was getting worse.

  As owner of the castle, Master Hillywur Gub had promised to renovate it to the height of its glory days but with every triumph there were twenty setbacks. Sinks sunk. Furniture got webbed into walls. Ceilings fell in. Floors bubbled up. Nothing of his and Elgart’s attempts seemed to last long at all. It didn’t help that good employees were of extremely short supply, especially ones that could tolerate the Krux. It seemed its dark history surrounding the murder of King Validyn would cast its cold shadow forever.

  On the cheery side of this, at least for Root, she had become quite adept at escaping the Krux’s cold spots. In fact, most of the Quest kids had managed to avoid them pretty well now. All but Milden Ibbbs who had been seen stuck in walls, with an eye peering from his belly button, puking up toe jam, hair coming out of his mouth and wearing his feet backwards. All the unpleasant results of walking into a Krux cold spot.

  After Milden’s last Krux encounter, when he was found hanging upside down from the drapes, his father Milwart Ibbbs took him to the Medician. This is when tongues wagged and the news ripped through the castle like wind. Poor Milden Ibbbs was, of all things, allergic to magic. That was why he couldn’t notice the cold spots. It was a tragedy Root was sure she’d’ve not recovered from and yet somehow Milden still managed to stay jovial. He was still determined to stay in the race and not a day would go by without an inspirational smile and an ‘Aren’t we so lucky!” from Milden Ibbbs.

  There was only one person as happy as Milden. Root had been waiting to see him all morning and now jumped at her chance.

  “Any news, Elgart?”

  “Nothin’ yet, sweetlet.”

  Root tried to keep the corners of her mouth up.

  “I’m sorry, little Root. I know it’s been a long time.”

  Well, duh! Only her whole life, she wanted to yell. Not at Elgart. At DréAmm council. Stupid, dumb DréAmm council. Seriously, how hard was it to find out who her parents were? Apparently, very hard. At least according to the Guardian Studaben Picklepug who had a really irritating habit of patting Root on the head while explaining the stacks of paper work to be done and the requests that had to be filed first, not to mention the identity charts to be filled out. “Soon, soon…” he’d say with annoying smoothness.

  Root hadn’t really liked Studaben Picklepug from the get go. He seemed to have so many secrets, so many carnival tricks behind the two-ring circus of his eyes and the way he staged himself, so slick and glossy, it made her skin crawl. He was hiding something. Root didn’t know what exactly, but something didn’t feel right.

  Soon, soon.

  Whatever.

  By the time soon, soon arrived she’d be in the grave! Bad enough she was already fifteen! Fifteen. Normally she’d’ve forgotten entirely, but DréAmm doesn’t forget its birthdays. Or rather its Birthday. One day, set aside, like a holiday. Birthday was the celebration day for all those who have been born. Everyone. Young and old and in between.

  It was quite the affair with its gatherings and decorating and feasting. Fire Blossoms were strung. Swags festooned along hallways and on the fronts of doors. Beautiful sparkling centerpieces were placed upon tables. Happy Birthday was put to every greeting. And from the neighbouring evergreens, the deep rich aroma of their bark drifted heavily, like the gods had sprinkled cinnamon and honey into the air. It was a joyous and wonderful occasion and Root was thrilled when she and Dwyn were invited to share it with Madam Mordgidika Keen and Jorab, two of her most favoritest people of all. Lian had spent the early part of Birthday between the homes of his parents and then joined Root and Dwyn later.

  Fifteen years old, all three of them.

  Two hundred and eighty eight years, Mordge. Two hundred and forty three, Jorab. That called for a celebration indeed, complete with gifts, treats, games and a capper of Chorm around the fire.

  An early fall frost had spilled a crystal veneer across Mordge’s window. Root scraped the words ‘Best Birthday ever’ across it with her fingernail.

  They toasted themselves well into the evening and fell asleep on warm fat chairs while Jinter Twostep’s warbled recording got stuck on the same line over and over.

  Be not ye careworn

  Be glad ye were born

  Be not ye careworn

  Be glad ye were born

  Birthday had made Root want to know her parents more than ever. She clung to the only vision of her mother she had, a woman with long ebony hair and a ribbon of silver through it. A tiny, mysterious image but it was enough. She tried to talk to Dwyn about his parents too but Dwyn didn’t talk about his parents.

  “But don’t you want to know who they were?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  “Miss Pramly was my mum as far as I’m concerned. She raised me since I was a baby. Genes don’t matter to me. She was the one who was there. Besides you’re never gonna find out, Root.”

  “Wha’dya mean?”

  “Haven’t you read any of the history books, yet? Kakos’ attack was so swift and powerful, people died by the thousands. They couldn’t keep up with the dead bodies and ended up throwing them in mass graves. It’ll be years before Council can tally names, if they even can at all. And even longer to piece together any families. I’d bet a zillion bucks that the reason Picklepug keeps putting off requests for identity files is because there are none. They’re either lost or were never made. Why don’t you just let it go.”

  That was too much to ask of Root. She’d already let enough go. Like the hug. The embrace that she’d seen so many other kids get from their parents. The one she’d always wanted from hers. She knew its shape, its feel, its smell, its sight. A circle of arms. Warm, hearth-smelling, squeezing arms. She had seen it in slow motion, under the stars, in the morning dew, in any way it came to her. The embrace. The arms of her parents wrapped around her.

  She would never let it go.

  Her persistence paid off one day as she watched Picklepug slip into his office. She discovered a perfect little inroad…a way to eavesdrop on the very conversations of the Guardian of DréAmm, Studaben Picklepug himself. Well, if you can call Quatra eavesdropping. He was in a meeting and Root had tapped
into an older woman with whom he was talking. Root felt bad. The woman had obviously let down her guard in her emotional state and Root had gained easy access to her thoughts. But Root was sick to death of being patronized. She needed answers too.

  Picklepug was extolling to the woman and another, a man, the woman’s husband, the virtues of the Quest and its overwhelming success.

  “Well, from what I’ve gathered it was nothing of the sort. The dangers those children were placed in were far beyond anything we were promised.” Root could feel that the woman did not trust Picklepug.

  “My dear lady, your son is splendid, thanks to his swift, unhindered conditioning during the race. Let’s not forget, this Quest held within it opportunity, a unique rites of passage of which you were fully in agreement with before your son…ahem…lost. And, as has been stated many times, there was never any real danger with which to be concerned.”

  Root had rather balked at this. It had felt pretty darn dangerous to her. But, perhaps the teams had been monitored more than she’d known. There was the Brédin, after all. Even just thinking of them made her feel safe. And they were always only a Bean Bug away.

  “Indeed,” Picklepug continued “your son was given a chance at a prize well worth the challenge, was he not?” He felt slimy in the woman’s mind.

  “And by his being eliminated…” This was the father now, speaking as if getting something off his chest. “…He’s not…I mean… not eligible for…”

  “Arthur!” Root felt a sudden fury in the woman. A powerful rage that made Root feel sick. She had to bail; the pressure in her head was too much.