The Questory of Root Karbunkulus - Quill Page 6

  He had said that she could contact him anytime and, man did that make her feel like the king of the hill but still, Jorab was an entity unto himself, revered and loved and feared. Powerful beyond her inkling of understanding and she just couldn’t bring herself to pop over to his mind to say ‘Hey, whatsup.”

  No, she would admire from a close distance, happy, like most, that he was on her side.

  On their side.

  Over the past weeks in Gub with the Word Pantry at hand, Root had come to grasp what the sides meant. Well, at least the bad side. She shuddered as she thought of him. Kakos. The Murk Lord. Though thankful that she had never seen him face to face, still he managed to elicit a clear essence of darkness, an evil that lingered in the scar on Krism’s forehead and in the whispers along corridors and trees. It wasn’t the same essence that hung around other jerks, like say Grotius Vulcherk. No, it was much heavier, much stronger. Vulcherk merely made Root cringe. Kakos scared the living daylights out of her.

  Root could hardly wrap her head around the fact that Kakos had once been loved. As a member of the Ring of Antiquilus he was a powerful force of good in DréAmm. But then something happened, something black that made Antiquilus banish him from the Ring. And sent him along a path of evil. The same path that Root had stumbled upon in her first race. And one she desperately hoped to avoid this next time around.

  “Milwart Ibbbs!”

  Root blinked to attention. Who?

  “My dad!” Milden Ibbbs poked her and pointed to his father now rising and walking awkwardly toward the podium.

  “What’s he doing?”

  Unfortunately the mentioning of Milwart Ibbbs was a time when one would invariably feel a yawn coming on. Not that he was dead dull but because he was…well, yeah he was dead dull. There was no getting around it. Milwart Ibbbs was dull. His hair, his clothes, his eyes-all watery. Even his voice. He spoke so mummified one wanted to kick him alive at times. And now here he was approaching the Quest podium? Root looked at Milden who was on his knees in his chair practically fizzing with excitement. She smiled and briefly wished she were he…a beloved child, a bloodline.

  That is, until Milwart Ibbbs began his address. Then, as mean as it sounds, she was glad he wasn’t her dad. He was just such a…a mess. Everything seemed to fall from him, papers, pens, glasses. He was too short for the podium and needed a box. Gunk seemed to breed in his throat. The loudspeaker wouldn’t work for him. Studaben Picklepug had to yell twice for him to speak up. Finally Mordge approached with a glass of Booster Fuel. Milwart took a grateful swig and cleared his throat.

  For like an hour.

  At last the Booster Fuel kicked in and the mousely sputtering of Milwart Ibbbs expanded. His words seemed to liquefy and pour out into the room now, then rise like a cool mist across sleeping lands, waking all the nodding heads and finally giving him favour to continue. Root could feel the relief in Milden as his father unfolded into the largeness of his new sound.

  “Hello. My name is Milwart Ibbbs. Maven of Mystic Beings. I am here to announce artifact two of the DréAmm Quests.”

  Well, if the Booster Fuel hadn’t done it, he certainly got their attention now. Every eyeball swivelled in his direction. It startled him and there was a wavering moment where he could have retreated back into his tiny cave. But to his son’s delight, he didn’t. He carried on, touched with newfound fluidity and gestured toward the middle of the room where a giant Imaginate appeared, hovering in a dramatic glow of light.

  “As Maven of Mystic Beings, I have had the thrill and pleasure of studying many of DréAmm’s finest beasts. Amongst them, the HaloEm.”

  At this, the Imaginate roused and from its centre, as if approaching from a far off distance the holographic image of a creature grew before them, swelling larger and larger until at last its magnificence filled the entire periphery of the Imaginate.

  Not even a devil of urban dwelling could dismiss the beauty and majesty of this natural creature. Root lost her breath.

  What was it?

  8

  HALOEM QUILL

  Inside the Imaginate the creature stood still, its breathing sure and strong. Root took in the whole of it, a regal white stag with an infinite spread of hauntingly beautiful iridescent wings. Its silver eyes held within them a fury of power.

  “Yes, a beauty beyond fathoming.” Milwart Ibbbs said at last. “Sadly the HaloEm are now extinct, the last having been exterminated by the Murk Lord.”

  Root’s heart caught fire as the words struck. Kakos had slaughtered these? She could hardly breathe for the dizziness of incomprehension. How? How could anyone do such a thing? She gazed at the beast. Its wings shimmered prismatically, glinting pinks and blues and reds. Casting light. And innocence.

  “The HaloEm, in their time were highly revered, but only a most fortunate and select few had the honour of their friendship. And an honour it truly was. One favoured enough to experience the regard of the HaloEm as it lay its head upon their shoulder, was blessed indeed.” Milwart Ibbbs had taken his audience into his passion. His every word was embraced and he, for the first in a very long time felt a spool of pride unwind and thread through his veins. He looked at his son and recognized the same fledgling joy. The Maven of Mystic Beings smiled and set his jaw.

  “And now, the artifact for the Second Magisterial Treasure Quest of DréAmm!”

  The Imaginate swirled, folding the HaloEm into its neon clouds and replacing it with a new image. A gasp took Root, Lian and Dwyn simultaneously. They recognized the object immediately: as long as an arm with sparkling iridescent feathers that seemed to have captured an entire light spectrum in their soft firm plume. Each glittering strand stroked firmly along its shimmering silver spine.

  The Valadors were shocked. Stunned. Stuttering in the revelation of the image before them.

  It was their very own Pasting Quill!

  The same of which was used to heal Root’s Naskaw wound those many months ago. A gift of Martika and Alabis, the Keepers of the Eidolon.

  This could not be happening! The mysterious artifact of Quest two was already theirs!

  “The Quill of the HaloEm,” Milwart Ibbbs impassioned, “is rare indeed. Not simply due to the HaloEm’s extinction but because, during their living years the HaloEm rarely molted with the exception of puberty. Any other releases would have been a single Quill offered to whomever they deemed worthy.

  “According to the Book of Sources, only five HaloEm Quills are recorded to exist, some having been gifted to favoured individuals. And there have, of course been no new hatchlings.

  “The acquiring of a HaloEm Quill was a blessed achievement indeed for the new owner would receive benefit of the Quill’s unsurpassed power in incredible strength and agility.”

  The Imaginate swirled again revealing a beautiful young woman in a long dress made of the greens of the earth; mossy, emerald, hunter, jade. Her hair flew back in a wind of leaves and the ocean was living and surging in her eyes.

  “Queen Shalayna,” Milwart continued “was one of the rare few who sowed a deep friendship with the HaloEm. She was the last to receive the gift of a Quill and though a potent magician in her own right, this is the power that one drop of the Quill’s spinal serum added to her strength.” Once again Milwart referred his audience to the rolling offerings of the Imaginate. “Where she could run, she could now outdistance a King Inx in the zenith of its strength and vigour.”

  The clouds of light sifted and rolled again, this time capturing the impossible speed of Queen Shalayna along a vast shoreline of the sea. She moved as if a wind god had anointed her feet. An Inx, muscled, lean and throbbing in power held far, far behind her.

  “Where she could leap, she could overtake even Dynasty Trees. And her strength was to become fathomless.”

  The eyes of Milwart’s audience widened as the queen sailed, weightless as an angel from treetop to treetop. In the next image, her fingers closed around a single diamond and opened again to a sparkling handful.

/>   “Yet, perhaps greatest of all. Queen Shalayna could soar.”

  The woman leapt atop the luminous stag and soon they were entering the Blue like welcome inhabitants, the HaloEm’s sparkling wings beating a long, rhythmic pulse as the sun moved to greet them and the world went silent. Root’s heart leapt and her ears rang with the rushing of wind. She could feel the lightness of her being, the spirit freed of its flesh. How she longed to be that woman.

  Milwart’s Imaginate shifted again.

  “The HaloEm were worthy allies in the defeat of Vor.”

  Now the great beasts were seen armoured in diamond-skin and battling scorched monsters, as the terror and hell of war pounced upon the audience. Root found herself leaning back, trying to escape the blood. She was well relieved when Milwart brought the Imaginate back to the single feather, floating and glittering, peaceful in a dazzling light.

  This prompted the memory of the Keepers’ gift and as Root caught the gleaming, knowing eyes of her teammates, she could not believe their luck. They would have this race done the same morning it started. She stirred, giddy in her seat as she pictured the looks on the faces of her opponents.

  The last parcel of Milwart’s speech was a brief, yet intriguing study of the HaloEm; where they had lived, what they had eaten. Root learned that the HaloEm were partial to the native vegetation of their land and the frequent treat of insects, in particular aphids. They preferred to sleep and mate in cooler, well-protected areas that could not be easily penetrated, such as caves.

  Barring the acts of men, most notably Kakos, who had hunted the HaloEm in a lust for power, the premature death of a HaloEm was rare and only found in the acidic saliva of a long haired Silverfox. Though the Silverfox kept mainly to feathered prey along its modest size and stature, the unique venom of its saliva could readily annihilate the wings of a HaloEm and therefore its very existence.

  Lian’s pen scurried furiously across the pages of his journal, anxious to get in every syllable that sprung from Milwart’s lips.

  “But we don’t need it.” Root whispered.

  “So.” Lian breathed back, still writing. He was a Natruid to the core, giving anything that lived careful scrutiny and with so little known about the HaloEm, this was an educational bonanza.

  Lian had many times tried to find books on the extraordinary creatures but as they were such reclusive beings, very little had been written about them. And then, of course, once they had been declared extinct, one was pretty hard pressed to find anything substantial outside of myth and legend.

  A hand went up. This was unexpected. It startled Milwart whose mouth went dry as flour, tipping him dangerously close to geekdom again. He shuffled his papers “Uh…yes?”

  It was Kor Bludgitt. With a big fat wide stupid grin on his face. “I’m just wondering, sir …how’re we supposed to find something that’s extinct?”

  The way he said it, all loaded with snotted up little blades, it made Milwart fumble and drop his papers. The crowd snickered.

  Milden clenched his fists. His father had been doing so well. But now he looked as if he would wilt and spin down a drain any second. Curse that Kor Bludgitt!

  Milwart Ibbbs had collected and was now excessively shuffling his papers. “That’s a…that’s a good …a good question…uh Mr. Bludgitt. The HaloEm are extinct, indeed but…as was noted earlier, their Quills can still be found…if one…uh…if one knows where to look.”

  “So, where do we look?” Kor crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. His eyebrows raised in snide expectation. He actually thought this would get him answers, as if Milwart Ibbbs would simply toss out his theories like bones.

  “Have you not been listening?” A deep, brusque voice rose up. It was Lord Blick. He stood from his table high up in the Grand Fire Blossom and hurled a dangerous glare at Kor whose back instantly snapped erect. “Master Ibbbs has been detailing the behaviour of the HaloEm for the past half hour. It seems quite clear to me where one might begin to look.”

  No one messed with Lord Blick. He had a daunting way of ensuring that. And though most times his own son, Lian detested this about him, in this moment Lian was rather pleased that his father had the same effect on bullies like Kor whose shoulders now hunched.

  “Ahem…will there be anything else, Master Ibbbs?” Studaben Picklepug had decided that he should intervene. It was getting late and he had yet to speak with Baron Valteez who had recently come into a substantial inheritance by way of his mother, estate tycoon Empranza Valteez. The Guardian was eager to offer condolences, which had an uncanny resemblance to tax incentives. He shook Milwart’s hand and resumed his position at the podium.

  “And now we have a very special treat for you this evening…all the way from…”

  A whisper from behind the curtain said

  “Edmonville!”

  “From Edmonville…here for your entertaining pleasure, I am pleased to introduce the talented troupe of the Lord Sclerous Players!”

  When the last line was uttered and the Silken Oxback crowned, the audience blinked, then applauded. It was over, thank goodness!

  “Actually it wasn’t that bad” said Dwyn. “It was just the Oxback. He stunk. The rest were okay.”

  The Oxback took his bows longer than anyone else. Even as the lights were dimming, and the applause had been spent he held out for an encore. Master Hillywur Gub finally forced him off.

  “Well now.” The Guardian reclaimed his spotlight. “It seems we have come to the end of our festivities this evening. Thank you, fellow supporters, friends and families. Thank you all for sharing this momentous occasion. I will be on hand for your inquiries and or interviews for the remainder of the evening. And to the teams, if you have any questions, your new guides will be happy to…”

  Suddenly. the massive stained glass doors swung open and there he was, as if by some special arrangement with the stars, arriving perfectly on cue.

  Ernest Skubblenob was muttering to himself. A huge blinking contraption was on top of his head, practically burying it, and his fingers were spidering over some sort of remote control. When the startled room went silent, his words were given clarity.

  “Valadors” he said and at once Root’s face turned the color of a beet. A mortified beet.

  The old inventor, quite familiar to most in the room, held out his remote and fumbled along, walking into chairs, knocking off hats and unknowingly inciting a chorus of amused laughter. He stopped at Kor’s table.

  “Valadors?”

  Kor scoffed. “Don’t look at me, old man.” He pointed at Root’s table and as Skubblenob walked away he added. “What? Did you lose them with your pants?”

  Snorts of laughter. Root slunk lower in her chair.

  Ernest Skubblenob would not look up. He hadn’t heard the ‘pants’ remark; being too focused on the Tempometre’s readings. Though Tamik Chillenly helped him turn in the right direction he continued to trip over everything in his path. Eventually people would grab hold of his shoulders and guide him along or simply move out of his way or tip the remote away from them.

  At last Ernest Skubblenob’s burning hand pointed directly at the Valadors, now hidden under their table. When they had no choice but to reappear it was only to see Ernest Skubblenob suddenly fling the red-hot remote control from his burning hands.

  No one, not even Root could find pleasure in what happened next. The scream was far too piercing, the tension too taut. The embarrassment too fresh.

  Hyvis Punyun leapt from her seat. Her throat opened with such fury that the deadly shriek of a Pistol Crab lay humbled. Upon her glittering, lavender haute couture gown there now lay a searing burn mark the shape of a rectangle. Smoke was still rising along its edges.

  Ernest Skubblenob had retrieved his Tempometre using the folds of his jacket and was apologizing with great heaps of panic when the grand garden doors opened again.

  Jorab strolled through the tables, a pair of pants in his arms.

  “Ah, you’re here. Splendid.
Valadors, may I present your new guide, Ernest Skubblenob.”

  9

  NO SUCH LUCK

  An emergency plan was definitely in order. The Valadors met in Root’s room. She went straight for her closet while her teammates collapsed, Dwyn on her bed, Lian on her new chair, a spongy green thing, compliments of Estrella Fuffleteez.

  “I think I can safely say that my dating life is over,” said Dwyn with a heaving sigh of resignation.

  Lian just mmmphed. There was nothing that could be said. Dwyn was probably right. No one in their right mind would want anything to do with them now. Not when half of them got third degree burns from playing a reluctant game of hot potato with a red hot scorching stupid remote control for an even stupider quasi invention that doesn’t even work, not to mention the doltish helmet that fell forward blinding the old man and sending him crashing into the Imaginate!!!

  Okay, team, breathe. Let it go.

  No easy task. If they listened carefully enough they could probably still hear the sizzling sparking death of the Imaginate, which was nothing compared to the ensuing hysteria. Lian clung to a single token of redemption. “Thank god we won’t have to use him.”

  “I’m not too sure about that.” Root said, coming up empty for the third time from the closet floor.

  “Oh no.” said Dwyn looking at her.

  “Oh please, no.” Added Lian.

  In Dwyn’s room all three were scuttling about in a mad search: tossing clothes, dumping drawers, checking and rechecking corners, piles, under the bed…all to no avail. Dwyn’s Klok, a beaver with excessively long, underused teeth yawned. “It’th way path-t your thleepytime, my boy.”