The Questory of Root Karbunkulus - Quill

by Kamilla Reid

  “Or quite possibly a Porgabott,” he said at last, pausing his finger over a picture. Root leaned in. The Porgabott was ugly indeed. Two distant eyeballs bugged out from grey skin that was patched in wiry tufts. Its ears were not unlike phonograph horns. But the thing was tiny. It barely fit over the model’s fingers. Nothing like her creature, which was at least the size of a mule. She made a point of mentioning this.

  “Well.” Lian patronized. “Maybe yours is full grown after all.”

  “But it says Porgabotts only grow up to ten inches.”

  Lian’s ears went red. He scanned the page for proof.

  “Well, whatever.” Dwyn piped up. “Maybe it’s an exception to the size rule. It still looks like it.”

  “Not really. It’s ugly but not the same ugly.”

  “Ugly is ugly, Root.”

  Root looked at the picture again. Maybe… maybe there was some similarity in the eyes but that’s where it ended. “I just don’t think it’s a Porgabutt.” She said with an air of finality.

  “Porgabott.” Lian corrected and flipped the page. He knew Root was right, of course but she didn’t have to be so…so right about it.

  They went through a few more pictures. And a few more debates.

  When it was agreed that the animal could be either of these or none of these, but that it was definitely not dangerous, Root spent the next hour trying to convince her teammates to let it stay with them, at least until it was old enough to care for itself. And though she was made fully aware of the fact that that could be many long interminable weeks, she held fast.

  The creature slept on with gurgling sounds and enough gaseous grunts to seriously damage her case but in the end, they agreed to let Root keep the ugly thing. As long as it stayed out of trouble and didn’t drag them down, especially now that they were Skubblenob-free and determined to catch up in the race.

  They had decided to visit the port town of Divit. It was close to the White Woods, where Milwart had said the HaloEm had lived at one time. With this in mind, the next hour or so was spent preparing: cleaning up, filling up, planning, prepping. Skubblenob’s dumb remote had melted everything in the refrigerator pocket of the travel pack, which was what Lian was reorganizing when they heard a faint sound.

  “Shhshshshshsh!” Dwyn said and pointed from their plateau far down into the valley where a sprinkle of golden lights began to glow. There must have been hundreds of them or more, lanterns and in larger areas, fires.

  The sound came fuller now. Singing. And not just singing. Entrancing, smoky music that pulsed and rolled and danced in the mountains like fireflies.

  “Are they…faeries?” Root asked.

  “ I don’t think so.” Lian said. “The music is too rustic. I think it’s a tribe of some kind. It sounds Eastern. Probably Ekladians.”

  “What’re they?”

  “Nomads. And they usually have really nifty stuff to sell. Like, super excellent quality. Might be worth checking out.”

  “So, they’re friendly then?”

  “Generally.”

  “Well, they sound pretty friendly to me. C’mon!” Dwyn yelped and was gone.

  “Wait, Dwyn…you can’t just….”

  Too late. Root and Lian ran about trying to decide what to bring or leave behind before chasing after Dwyn. The Hovers were spread out in bundles around the fire and told to keep an eye on things. Root pointed out the sleeping CowPigRodent in the blankets to Stogie and told him to watch over it. Stogie was still staring at it as Root set out, as if he too couldn’t imagine anything uglier.

  “Just leave it!” Root said to Lian who was hastily trying to repack the travel bag. “The Hovers’ll watch it.”

  Lian was utterly aghast of the idea but had no choice. It needed to re-refrigerate before he could place anything back in. He grabbed what he could from the slew of objects strewn about and hastily tucked the rest beneath blankets.

  As they ran after Dwyn, Lian gave Root a breathless lesson in Ekladian 101. “They are renowned. They create and collect some of the finest wares in the land. An Ekladian’s stamp is a valuable commodity. Because, though they are open market, it is rare that one can offer something of equal value to them. Even Grotius Vulcherk has a hard time getting Ekladian goods. And don’t offend them in any way. They are proud and demanding of proper respect. They claim to come from a powerful line of gifted Seers but it is extremely rare that you would get the opportunity to meet one. Generally, they are peaceful and simple nomads, living with the land and quick to find reason to celebrate, which is what we are about to…”

  He stopped at the sight of Dwyn crouched low and spying, his eyes entranced. As they approached they too could see the wonder of color and music and dance that mesmerized him. A mammoth fire blazed in the middle. At its head a band of musicians flavored the air thick with song. And all along the fireside came the skipping of bare feet and clapping of happy hands.

  The three friends drew in, content to take it all in from the secluded leaves of their hideout. The music flew faster and the feet followed devotedly. Some of the elderly pulled themselves away allowing the youth to break into the best of themselves. Here Root and Dwyn and Lian delighted in the colorful, vibrant skirts that pinwheeled into the air. And the bright open shirts of young men rising and falling in stag-like leaps.

  Faster music. Faster hands. Faster feet.

  The team was so mesmerized they didn’t even notice the old man who’d seen them and toddled over. His face simply popped up before them with a toothless grin. The next thing they knew he was pulling them into the dancing ring, not taking any of their panicked ‘no’s’ for an answer. It was here Root realized that they were all still in their pajamas. They must’ve looked like they’d come from another planet. Aliens crashing the party. She expected the festivities to come to a screeching halt right then and there. But the music didn’t so much as skip a beat. Nor did the dancing. No one even yelled at them for trespassing. Or showing up in sleepwear.

  Instead the night upheld its passionate pace drawing the three of them as kindred flesh and blood into its marrow. Partners were given each and though the Valadors were nothing of the coordination of these skillful dancers, they were smiled upon, patted on the back and carried away into the breathless, fevered flight of dance.

  Dwyn could not believe his good fortune. The same girl he’d not been able to take his eyes from was now placed in front of him. She smiled a smile that knocked the wind out of him but he stood straight and accepted her hand.

  Root, on the other hand had been snatched up by a bulldozer of an Ekladian boy who literally did knock the wind out of her with the force of his embrace. Lian was suddenly dry mouthed and sick with nerves at the pretty maiden who fell into his arms.

  They danced as best as non-dancing newbie strangers could, hoping to dignify the leading cues of their partners. Or at the very least, not fall down. But as the music licked into even greater urgency, the Valadors graciously (and most relievedly) bowed out to allow the unhindered feet of true mastery.

  Well, two did. Dwyn, in full swaggering form, decided to go another round.

  The girl at his side looked at him with interest. And pity. For there was no way this boy would be able to keep up with her. Of course her expression did nothing to shift him. If anything it made his eyes bluer. Peacock blue, one would say. He launched a loaded grin and held out his hand.

  Well, she thought, such arrogance deserves a fall now and again.

  The girl accepted and led Dwyn centre, fully aware of the eyes that envied her, those whom Dwyn had already managed to impress. The music stoked. The girl moved in it with the spirit of a wild thing, one just woken from hibernation. Indeed, it had been months in the sleepy ashes of the Sage Mother’s caravan. Tonight she was Fawn, Dancer of the Earth.

  And as if he’d been Ekladian born himself Dwyn fulfilled each move and breath with the same untamed spirit. Fawn felt heightened by the mere tracing of his finger along her back. Her chest fluttered for
air, hot and dusty as it was. They danced, she and he as coiling, feathering smoke. One by one the other couples fell in their wake. In the suspension of space and time, Dwyn rose with such sinew that the girl was shocked to find the hair of her skin raised in his touch.

  She was also annoyed. For he was looking at her now like he had her.

  As if.

  She turned from the intensity of his eyes into the finale where all the young women soared airborne and fell triumphantly back into the arms of the earth. The feet of their partners replied with ferocity, weaving from flesh to embers to flesh again.

  And still the music played, leading the breathless youth into a unified building, building, building. Drums thundered the heart. Skin heated up …eyes fired…ta da rum…ta da rum…building building building…

  “EIY!”

  Silence, save for an echo that tore into the sky and bounced among its infinite stars.

  Then a great, hearty roar of laughter.

  And a return to the world.

  Fawn and Dwyn bowed deeply and parted…with heat still in them. Unsettled. Displaced. Longing for release.

  As the wild and the tame mingled once more, the sounds of the night found a gradual pitch of conversation. Root and Dwyn followed Lian’s lead toward a vortex of activity where men and women of the tribe were courting an elderly couple with bows and curtsies and nods and handclasps. Trays with goblets of foaming drink floated about in offering. The elderly man grabbed two goblets, one for the woman at his side; the other he held up. “Alastiss!”

  His people replied in happy echo and drained their goblets. The man sent the trays back for more.

  “That’ll be the leader.” Lian said. “C’mon.”

  Root and Dwyn followed him all the way up to the riser where the man and woman sat in wooden thrones with a circlet of candles above them, midair.

  The woman smiled when she saw them and winked. Her seasoned beauty instantly took them. “Please come forward,” she said.

  The Valadors entered into the light where she could see them better. “You dance well, young man.” She said to Dwyn with approval. Her eyes were dark and kind. A thick braid of raven hair trailed well past her shoulders. Inlaid were hundreds of emeralds, their faces sparkling in the flicker of candles. Her dress was of the same jeweled green. Root remembered it pinwheeling past her during the dance.

  “Thank you…uh…your highness?” Dwyn said nervously.

  The woman laughed. “Please call me Wintra. Wintra of Sunhaven, in your service. And this is Festa, the Bright.”

  “Welcome, friends! What deserves us such grace?” Festa was a lean, dark man with glistening skin and muscle from the dance. He wore an open silk shirt of royal blue that, even in this dim light, pulled from the same jewel blue of his eyes.

  Root and Dwyn’s awkward shuffle indicated that it would be best for Lian to speak on their behalf. Little did they know his speech would sound like he’d sliced his tongue. In fact it was a long, mortifying minute before it occurred to them that their friend was actually speaking Ekladian. Ekladian! The words spilled from him like a freaking fountain… not that they should be surprised but they were… and then, then he interpreted for their benefit.

  “We were led to you by the passion of your music but were preceded by your reputation.”

  Root and Dwyn blinked. Nice.

  “And what reputation is that?” Wintra asked amusedly.

  Again the language fell with ease from Lian’s tongue. “Why, the legendary Ekladian bar upon which all true artistry and mastery are measured. It is no secret the beauty and innovation of your wares.”

  Festa nodded. He was pleased. “And do you come of curiosity or business?”

  “Both, sir. If you will humor us.”

  The man laughed and gestured the musicians. “At sun up I shall humor you, clever boy. In the meantime, you and your friends are welcome guests of my people.”

  And with that the table beside them was loaded up for serious culinary action: plates of fresh herbed meats steaming and sizzling, bowls of morning picked vegetables chopped into mountains of color and capped with maple juice, breads still warm enough to melt cheese, platters of blushed fruit and mugs of bubbling Willow Wine. Guests, indeed! They were freakin’ royalty!

  18

  THE SAGE MOTHER

  In the blink of a festival soaked eye morning boosted the sun over the horizon. The Valadors were drenched in Party and happier than they’d been in weeks.

  And now Festa was going to take them on a tour through the legendary Ekladian caravan. Root’s curiosity had grown over the night as stories of its unsurpassed treasures fell upon her ears. She and Lian hurriedly met Festa at the end car, where dew was still glistening on its round windows. Dwyn was missing in action. But the way he’d been strutting around those girls, his teammates could safely assume he had absolutely no inclination to be found. And indeed Lian had no inclination to look for him. Lian was practically drooling and would hardly allow the recklessness of Dwyn’s ego to tear him away from an opportunity like this.

  A short distance away from the end car, in a quiet settlement of morning sun, Hovermutts, livestock and other Ekladian domestics grazed. Festa gave Dwyn exactly one minute before shrugging him off with a fatherly grin. “That boy’s got a rascal on his heels.” He shook his head and directed the other two to the door. It was an arched frame with no handles. Festa leaned forward and whispered into the grains of its wood. A moment later the door opened like a drawbridge and two silent doormen greeted them. With very large swords.

  “You see those blades?” Festa asked. Root and Lian nodded; couldn’t really miss them, unnaturally blue and sharp as they were. “They are made from the bones of a Brine Demon. Plenilune himself, Lord of Eventide slayed the demon in his ninetieth year. He then buried the bones for five and two years in the very soil of the sacred land of which he was ruler. On the last day of the seventh year, Plenilune dug the bones up, now merged in the purity of moonlight and gifted them to his son, Validyn.”

  “Validyn. I know that name. Isn’t that the guy that was once King of DréAmm?” Root asked.

  “Aye. Good.” Festa nodded.

  Lian gave Root a surprised look that immediately made her head swell. See, not every little bit of trivia went past her.

  “Validyn in turn gifted the Brine Demon’s bones to my father,” continued Festa, “the great swordsmith, Guandav. And this is what became of them. As venomous and undefeated today as then.” The tribe leader straightened then and cleared his throat. “Festa the Bright!” He said in a clear, authoritative voice.

  Immediately the blades uncrossed, catching the sun in their motion and sending a threatening blue flare to the eyes, as if the spirit of the Brine Demon still lay in the reforged bones, awaiting a chance for revenge.

  “Please, after you.” Festa said and gestured toward the opening. Lian walked forward, cast a fleeting glance at the swords and entered. Festa held out his hand for Root. She gulped and stepped forward. Please, let the Brine Demon like me. She was not one foot in when a voice called “Hold!”

  A young girl strode toward them. Immediately Root recognized her; Dwyn’s dancing partner of last night. She was even more beautiful than the flattering spill of firelight had made her and Root felt a pang of self-consciousness. She tried to brush back her messy, tangled excuse for hair. Still in her pajamas she couldn’t help but notice the fresh bright colors that fluttered like feathers in the girl’s skirt.

  “Fawn!” Festa cried and captured the girl in a strong embrace. “You danced last night as I’ve never seen.” The girl blushed. “Perhaps the Sage Mother was right in giving you a break from your studies.” He turned to Root “This is Fawn, my daughter.”

  “Hi” Root said.

  The girl smiled. “You have the most beautiful hair I have ever seen, Root.” And she meant it.

  The grass is always greener. This time Root blushed.

  “And what brings you here, daughter?”

>   “The Sage Mother sends for our friend, Root Karbunkulus.”

  Festa’s eyes widened. But he knew better than to snoop. “This is an honour indeed. The Sage Mother is a rare host. You are a most fortunate girl.”

  “I am?”

  “She has obviously seen something in you that has impressed her. Do you accept?”

  “Uh...”

  The girl helped her out. “The Sage Mother is a Seer. She comes from Proslin, where the land has birthed the greatest Seers of all time. But she is kind. You needn’t be afraid.”

  “Oh. Uh…okay.”

  Lian stuck his head out from the door. It was unnerving to see it so close to the flashing blue blades.

  “My daughter sends message that the Sage Mother wishes to see your friend.”

  “Really? Cool!” Lian smiled.

  Root looked at Lian awkwardly. She wasn’t comfortable with the idea of leaving him and hoped he would read her expression but…

  “’Kay, we’ll meet up later!” …is what came from his oblivious lips.

  Fawn smiled and took Root’s hand. “Come.”

  Root gave a last spin of her head to see Festa stepping in and the swords crossing behind them.

  The Sage Mother’s caravan loomed before them, the morning mist burning away from it like incense. Root felt leaden in its sight. Especially unnerving was the great eye that seemed to notice even the shiver that had raced along her spine.

  And if the outside didn’t complete her bewilderment, the inside certainly managed. Root was stunned. It just wasn’t possible. The walls vaulted skyward like a palace, giving way to a magnificent round window that looked not upon the peeping wildflowers of the valley but upon a luscious garden of roses. The reds and yellows and pinks of their blossoms sprawled in garlands and crowns amongst a flagstone courtyard. Closing them in was a hedge of ancient stone, curtained in ivy. Off to a side, in a warm corner of light stood a large stone easel streaked and dripped in layers of paint.