The Questory of Root Karbunkulus - Quill

by Kamilla Reid

  Smack!

  Bam! Bam!

  The Swamp Pig stopped tugging and paused, a look of complete shock on its face.

  Whack! Bam! Smack!

  The pig stooped back with a loosened grip that allowed Root’s leg to begin squirming for escape.

  Smack! Bam! Whack! Whack! Whump!

  The pig all but fell to its knees, it’s eyes dazed and batting.

  Root jostled her leg free and scrambled to safer ground. Lian’s reed-sleeve was left behind, hanging mangled from one of the Swamp Pig’s tusks.

  With nothing short of awe, Root and Lian watched the Glawering’s lightning quick branch execute two more blows to the Swamp Pig’s enormous head. Then the beast was gone, staggering back into its cesspool, a whimpering, snorting stew of air bubbles lingering in its descent.

  It was a long time before the tremble of their breath settled and they could be certain the monster would not return. Root looked at Lian. Like her, he was coated in mire. Even his eyelashes were green with it. She could see the rise and fall of his chest, yet to recover. He didn’t smile but he did hold something up. Something phosphoric and bloated, about the size of a thumb with a tiny furrow of fluorescent fibers all along its seam.

  The Glawering’s seed!

  A Glawering had moved over to allow Lian some sunlight with which to perform his operation. It was intricate stuff he was dealing with. Root had rarely seen him so focused. She leaned over as he poised the Quantifier to insert exactly one moment-spoonful of something bright red into the seed.

  He stopped and looked at Root.

  Oh. She stepped back, allowing the light to reappear over his patient.

  Lian resumed his position. Root couldn’t help but lean in again to see what would happen as the needle slipped ever so gently into the Seed’s end. And while Root was actually wondering if it was the seed’s bum, something quite extraordinary happened. The Seed coughed. And then it spluttered and sneezed and went on like this for a few seconds before it finally stopped and shook itself like a wet dog. When it had finished, it had fluffed itself into a phosphorescent ball that reminded Root of the tops of seeded dandelions. It had also managed to attract half the Glawering who now bent and stooped and goggled and cooed and practically fell over each other for a peek.

  “I’m just gonna put it into this for protection.” Lian held up a large whitish sphere that looked to Root exactly like an eyeball. It even had a spread of red arteries across it. A bloodshot eyeball. Lian gently put the seed into its pupil. It was like crossing into a black hole. “This is the eye of a Squalabee.” He said. Aha, Root was right! “Your seed will be completely protected in there, won’t even scratch.”

  The Glawering hummed in admiration and approval.

  “When we reach a clearing in a good patch of soil, Root can release it.” Lian tapped a pocket of the travel pack. A big, hairy hand with black nails came out, took the eye from him and slid back in. A Squalabee hand?-Root thought with a good dose of ick. What the heck else is in that pack?

  The earth seemed to throb again, sending a vibration of energy up from its core. Root’s skin and blood tingled. She wondered if this was what a tree felt like as it pulled the essence of life into its roots and up through its branches. The Glawering arched their topmost branches. “Powerful Natruid, for this we are eternally grateful. We offer you anything within our power.”

  When all the amber had slid slowly down the heads and faces and backs and legs and hair and paws and scales of its victims, and when hugs were had and licks reached the point of no return and the animals of the wild had leapt to farther reaches and one ginormous Tagit had tickled Root with its flickering tongue and three Pink jaws had dropped, and the old inventor had recovered his Tempometre, it was time to say farewell to the Glawering.

  “Thank you so much!” Root hugged a tree and allowed its crooked branch to wrap around her. She introduced Dwyn who happily shook the Glawering’s branch.

  Root laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked mid-shake.

  “They’re wondering why you’re shaking their noses.” She said.

  “Oh.” Dwyn stopped. As he awkwardly stood back, the swamp trembled with a deep, eternal moan.

  “It’s okay’ Root said. “They’re laughing!”

  When Root pointed out their actual ‘hands’ Dwyn and Skubblenob took to them like guests meeting a bridal party, filling each greeting with ‘glad to meet you, thank you for saving us after you nearly killed us, do you have relations in Perderly? And my, what lovely bark you have.’

  Lian had simply bowed his head. He knew it was only this respect, this deep, unwavering passion for all creatures of Nature that gave him power and he held the responsibility in reverence. He’d done nothing alone but with the surging might of Creation itself.

  Hilly Punyun, on the other hand, was held back from kicking the tree that had held her hostage. “ I oughtta…”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were…”

  Too late. With a swift swoosh of a branch Hilly Punyun was dangling.

  When she screamed it was to be another fiasco as the travel pack erupted with Lian’s Shrieking Shrub. It landed with a splat around Hilly’s neck. Sharmay and Pidge tried a desperate means of extraction but the thing simply would not abandon its ‘mother’. Not this time. No way.

  When Hilly finally accepted defeat, telling the shrub she would love it forever (singing it, actually), she was quickly dropped and led away by the other two thirds of her team. Her guide, a very, very short gnome of a woman with a severe fringe of hair across her forehead and glasses the size of plates sighed and reluctantly followed. This was not at all what the brochure had said, she thought. There’d been no mention of swamps and snotty, rotten brats; only a chance for travel, to see the world. No experience needed, all you had to do was squeeze the Beanbug if you were in danger.

  She was not pleased, especially having given up Canonballing for this! She’d been on the verge of Canon Champion with only one Baller to usurp, Charlebois McMissile, who’d been shot nearly ten miles, straight across Lake Bigum.

  But oh no, she had to listen to her sister. Well, there would be hell to pay now.

  Lian snatched his Shrieking Shrub and quickly banished it with a ‘Bad plant!’ chiding into a much deeper pocket of the travel pack.

  “You can ride with us if you like, Hilly.” Root reluctantly offered from atop the giant head of the Tagit. Lining up behind her, along the great snake’s torso were the rest of the Valadors and their rather uncomfortable Hovers, anxiously looking forward to flight in the very near future. Chesterly was already panting.

  “I’m not riding that Thing! It’s disgusting!” Hilly marched away stubbornly, color-coded disciples in tow. Her guide paused, torn between the two. On the one hand she could ride a real life Tagit! Not every day you get an opportunity like that. On the other hand were three snotty, rotten princesses whose very voices made her head grind, the ones who had led her into the glued grasp of these frighteningly black trees in the first place.

  She blinked back at her charges from the Tagit’s back, a can-you-blame-me-shrug filling in the blanks.

  Hilly humphed and kept marching, even as her glittering ankle boots gooped heavy with mud.

  “Suit yourself’ Root smiled as the Tagit began a slithering departure.

  “Oh and by the way, you’re welcome!’ Lian added.

  Hilly snorted into a crossed-arm snit with her nose in the air.

  Funny how the roaring snap of a vengeful Swamp Pig along with a torrent of slimy green-black swamp water can change one’s mind.

  The Pinks were placed at the very back of the Tagit, where they could be heard the least.

  16

  DROPPING BAGGAGE

  A clearing! A clearing! A beautiful sun drenched perfectly golden and welcoming clearing! This could not have come soon enough. Even the Tagit was relieved beyond joy for now he could dump off the three pink things that had annoyed him since first departi
ng the Swamps.

  Root leapt off the Tagit and stretched. Her legs, her back, her neck, even her hair was sore. She’d been clinging to the Tagit for so long she was sure she had stiffened into a permanent stoop. They were, all of them a stark contrast to the fresh ease of the meadow. Still sticky with amber, they hadn’t eaten and from them came a sweaty stench easily eclipsing Chesterly’s breath.

  Skubblenob had vexed them with his constant attention to the stupid Tempometre remote. It had remained scalding hot, though they were nowhere near the swamps now. Twice he’d dropped it on the poor Tagit’s back. Twice! The great head had swung around in contempt the first time. Wrong thing to do since it made Skubblenob panic and drop it again. Dwyn had finally grabbed the thing and hot potatoe’d it over to Lian who put it in the refrigeration pocket of the travel pack. The inventor eventually fell asleep with the helmet fallen over his brow and a host of squeezebox riffs spilling from his throat.

  Now eight Hovers rose into the air with long deep breaths of freedom. They romped from one end of the blossomed meadow to the other stretching their long unused bodies with glee.

  Hilly Punyun skidded from the Tagit’s back and threw her Road onto the ground. It swiftly gathered and mingled with the soil before forming a perfect map of their surroundings. A face etched in the top right corner. “Greetings and thank you for choosing Roads R Us, the most reliable…”

  “Shut up and tell me where we are!”

  The Road gaped momentarily, then heeded the question with a loaded clearing of its throat. “We are in a cleared passage called Pomean’s Steppe. This brief, yet abundant meadow intersects the Swamps of Koik with The Maline Mountains. Yonder, edging its land is a hedge of juicy wild raspberries and an orchard of Ernut trees awaiting harvest. A clear mountain brook, currently untitled resides exactly fifty paces north. Six fair jaunts to the east is the town of Bansper with full amenities. To the west you will find…”

  “Yeah, yeah. Upsy daisy!” Hilly rolled her eyes and sucked the Road up in a cyclonic spin, back into its velvet pouch.

  There was no conversing, no democratic debate amongst her teammates. Hilly Punyun’s mind was made up and that was clearly all that mattered. She whistled, jumped atop her Hover (an overly groomed canine in a flashy pink collar) and headed eastward. Nothing of a ‘goodbye’ or a ‘thank you’ was considered, let alone actually uttered. Sharmay, Pidge and their very displeased guide mounted and ranked in behind her, though from their pained looks those juicy wild raspberries were hard to leave behind.

  The hypnotic dance of the fire had lulled Skubblenob and the Hovers to sleep. After the ice-cold, refreshing waters of ‘Untitled’ plus mittfuls and mittfuls of raspberries and Ernuts, sleep came fast, indeed.

  If only Root, Lian and Dwyn could join them. But, no. Not yet. Not until a decision was made. One that should have been made ages ago.

  “I just think ‘mutiny’ is a bit of a harsh word is all.” Root whispered.

  “Well, call it what you want, the fact is we’ve gotta get rid of him once and for all! Or we may as well just kiss this Quest goodbye.” Dwyn’s eyes were seriously serious.

  “Fine. How?”

  Skubblenob woke with a note beside his head.

  Gone for groceries. Be back soon.

  17

  EKLADIANS

  The old woman closed her eyes. Her head trembled. In her hand a paintbrush began an urgent dance across the canvas.

  “What is it, Sage Mother?” asked Fawn, the young girl at her side.

  As the Sage Mother’s apprentice, Fawn had been practicing Sight for some time now. But she was nowhere near full power and could make out nothing of the old woman’s vision as it came in furious brush strokes of color and light.

  Fawn sighed. Over the weeks she had grown weary of her training. If she had her way she’d be dancing through the mists in High Basin where the cool refreshing water fell from the cliffs. But the old woman had seen a gift in her and as Diviner of the Tribe, the Sage Mother was not to be denied.

  Outside a window Fawn could hear the breezy laughter of her friends. But all she could see was her own impatient reflection. Her hair fell in long ebony crinkles that seemed to have lost their luster from so many sunless days. Her olive skin too looked hungry for the nourishing drink of outdoors. And when she spied her eyes looking back, she wanted to cry for in them she saw a trapped animal longing for freedom.

  It wasn’t that the old woman was unkind. To be sure, she was as sweet as the syrup that spilled from the maples into the tribe’s empty jars. Her wizened eyes were always seen twinkling merrily and her laughter filled the corners of her caravan.

  The Sage Mother was given second caravan, a deep purple structure with whispering visions that came and went along its facing. Gold seemed to have fallen from the sky and rolled down its corners. And in the centre, a great eye was painted with such conviction, the viewer felt known to the bone. The first caravan, a flush pageant of blue and gold with a jeweled mosaic in its centre, was given to the caravan leader, Festa the Bright. Fawn’s father.

  Fawn always found it ironic that neither of them in their power and wisdom could see that she wasn’t cut out for Tribal Queen or Diviner. All she wanted to do was dance.

  The old woman’s paintbrush moved wildly upon the canvas until at last the hand found peace and fell to her side. The brush dropped to the floor. Her vision was over. The painting was complete.

  Fawn queried her again. “What is it, Sage Mother?”

  “Glam ash pur ay.” The Sage Mother spoke in the ancient tongue of her tribe. Someone comes. Fawn looked at the old woman’s painting. A pumpkin haired girl her own age looked out at her with amethyst eyes. One boy, a Natruid and another whose lineage was unclear flanked the girl. Fawn found herself dizzy in the intensity of color and strokes. A thrill of bumps covered her skin. Spirit talk.

  “Who is this?” she asked, surprised that three common youths would arouse such reaction in the woman. And in herself. Her people were nomads. Visitors came and went all the time and rarely had Fawn seen the Sage Mother offer more than a nod or a clicking of her tongue. Obviously, these three were of some importance not yet manifest in Fawn’s range of Vision. “Praporem aven duvinat?” What is their purpose?

  The Sage Mother opened her eyes and took Fawn into them, an ocean swallowing a drop of water. She smiled then, with an artful curl of lips and said. “Va.”

  Go.

  Unlike his teammates, Dwyn’s energy had not even dipped let alone sunk. While Root and Lian staggered along in exhaustion he seemed to walk on air. The same potholes and roots and branches that had clipped them seemed to avoid him entirely. His steps were light and sure and before the sun was down, he had led his friends to a canopied spot overhanging a summer kissed valley rolling in red, pink, yellow and orange flowers. Here the team finally rested and set up camp.

  “What’s with you?” Root asked tending a hot cup of Chorm.

  “What?” Dwyn said.

  “You’re like super guy or something. It’s like you but the new, improved version. You haven’t even stumbled. Not even once. And yesterday when you Molded into that bear and caught us some fish for dinner, it was amazing. I mean, you didn’t even flinch or like, end up half bear, half you. Haven’t you noticed?”

  “Yeah, actually I have.” And for the rest of that evening Dwyn’s friends heard detailed accounts of his travels, the ones he took while set like a statue in amber, the ones that didn’t exist anywhere but in his mind. The ones that had literally trained him intensely for weeks.

  “It makes sense.” Lian summarized. “Ninety nine percent of magic is done in the mind first, which is what you’ve done here. Studies have shown that the actual action is secondary. It’s like you went to magic boot camp for all those weeks.”

  “But it feels like I’ve accomplished more in this few weeks than the entire months at Gub.”

  “No distractions.” Lian said with a look of ‘duh, as in girls.’

  Dwy
n got a warm fuzzy of recognition. Girls. Right. He stretched like a creature waking from hibernation, ready to get back into an old familiar groove. A goofy smile lit his face. “Yep, glad to be back.”

  After hearing all about Dwyn’s ‘adventures’, Root now wished she’d done the same thing. But, oh no, she had to spend her precious hours and hours and hours staring at an ugly cow-pig-rodent thing, pondering its family tree.

  Well, the universe must have a sense of humor or at least perfect timing for, just as Root thought this, a crack was heard from the hovering darkness beyond their fire and a slapdash of activity ensued: Lian said “what the…” and then Dwyn moved like lightning and caught the thing that had made the cracking sound and dragged it fireside and Root said “Oh my goodness! It’s the cow-pig-rodent thingy!” at which point the cow-pig-rodent thingy cried out with a kind of throaty bray that freaked Dwyn out and made him drop it and that was when they all saw that it was just a baby…an ugly one at that and as they kind of blinked in confusion it ran into Root’s arms after tripping over logs and trampling Pilsnip’s tail.

  It was all rather haphazard. In a run-on sentence kind of way.

  But haphazard or not, Root recognized destiny when it came around and this destiny was licking her ears and staring straight at her with huge, precious Love Me eyes. In the manner of a true den mother, she had the creature fed, watered and wrapped in blankets fireside before the stars were out. It slept silent and deep, completely oblivious to the comments that batted over its head.

  “I just can’t believe how homely it is. I mean, what exactly is it?” Dwyn said. He and Root looked to Lian for the usual encyclopedic explanation.

  “I think it’s a Frey, definitely from the Frey family.” Lian tilted in closer to the thing’s head. Always eager to ingest more from the pie of knowledge, he brought out a volume of books dedicated to mountain inhabitants (this from the library pocket of the travel pack). He scanned through the pages, happily sidetracked here and there by the particulars of similar inhabitants.