The Questory of Root Karbunkulus - Quill (17 page)

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.

Root returned her survey to the rest of the
interior where towering pillars seemed to dwell in random plots.
From them were draped exquisite fabrics in colors she’d never seen
before. Unearthly colors. Angel colors. The rest of the room was
sparsely furnished in long, elegant benches gilded and plushed in
gold. White furs lay across the floor. Root took a long, deep
breath. Sweet scents of rose fell into her lungs. And then she
noticed the true soul and breath of this place. From every corner
of the eye, the passion and fury of the old woman was proclaimed in
paintings. Glorious dripping, thick, aching, endless paintings. On
walls, in corners, rolled or otherwise. Assembled along the floor
and in the arms of easels. Hundreds of incredible works of art.

Near an enormous ivory fireplace, carved
masterfully of roses the Sage Mother sat upon a humble pile of
jeweled pillows. She smiled and with a ring-laden hand gestured
Root closer.

“Oomwee” she said and Fawn repeated.
“Welcome.”

A plump cushion, seamed in sapphires and
emeralds was provided for their guest while Fawn fetched tea. Root
and the Sage Mother were left with silent, nodding smiles and a
chasm of unfamiliar words.

In stolen moments, Root couldn’t help but
stare for the Sage Mother was a marvel to be sure. Her hair
twinkled in powdery pinks and blues as it came to rest on the
parquet floor. She was draped in shimmering mother of pearl shades
and this was trimmed in deeper toned jewels of ruby and jade.
Diamonds seemed to have been sprinkled over her head and now
glittered from the folds of hair as she moved. He face was
beautifully aged with millions of happy moments etched into the
lines. And though her eyes spoke endlessly, her voice was silent.
And so Root fumbled a bit and tried to smile and pressed her
pajamas as neat as she could until eventually all she could do was
say “These paintings. They’re amazing. Where’d you get them
all?”

“They are the work of the Sage Mother. They
are her visions.” Fawn had reappeared and kneeled beside the old
woman.

“Her visions? You mean like she paints what
she…like, the…”

“The future, yes. And as you can see, she
knew you were coming.” Fawn pointed to a painting behind Root. Root
turned and started at the sight of herself in its centre.”

“You need not fear. It is a vision is all.
You’ll find no danger.”

“She did all of these?”

“Yes.”

“Woah.” Root craned around and stared, her
mouth hinged open.

“Ah…varlay sulest!” The Sage Mother laughed
in a deep, chesty escape.

Fawn repeated. “She says you are most
lovely.”

Root blushed. “Thank you. She is, too”

Fawn interpreted Root’s words to the Sage
Mother.

And so it went happily on until at last they
came to the reason of Root’s invitation. Root couldn’t even fathom
what she was of interest to this great mystic. And the answer was
most unexpected.

“The Sage Mother is most pleased by your
dress. It is a material she has never known before and she would
like to know from where you got it.”

“What? These? My pajamas?” Root stood,
pinching them out from her in disbelief. Fashion tips? She’d been
brought here for fashion tips? And then she swelled with pride.
“Well, actually I made them myself!” She beamed.

On Fawn’s interpretation the Sage Mother’s
eyes widened. “Uma?”

How?

“Well, it’s a bit complicated. You see I
designed it but it was my friend’s mum who actually made it…but we
didn’t use normal material. We just kinda imagined it.”

The more Root tried to explain the Hemostylus
the more confusing it seemed to be. And yet now both the Sage
Mother and Fawn’s eyes were wide with curiosity. Root decided it’d
be best to show them than try to explain it. It was a risk, she
knew but there was something about the old woman that she trusted.
She pulled out the long, ebony reed, which by sheer good fortune
she’d managed to snag when Lian cleaned out the travel pack.

“Koowarden?”

“It looks to be an instrument of writing.”
Fawn replied to the old woman.

Root was confused. Could not the old woman
see that for herself?

“She is blind.” Fawn said after Root’s
expression.

“Blind? But how can she paint?”

“She can
See
you she just can’t see
you. It is more sensory.”

“But all these paintings…”

“Yes, amazing isn’t it?”

“And yet, my Hemostylus, she can’t see…?”

“It’s of a frequency her Sight is not
familiar with. She will adjust momentarily. You may continue.”

“Do you have paper?” Root asked

Fawn led them to a large marble desk from
which she retrieved a loose stack of parchment. The old woman knew
her desk well. She took to its matching chair and slid with years
of habit into a welcome rut of function.

Standing beside her, Root flattened the
parchment and poised the pen. “I’m a lousy drawer but could
probably manage a scarf.”

But the old woman reached out her hand.

And found the Hemostylus.

Lian gasped.

Bling everywhere. Umpteen scads of Bling.
Umpteen scads of Bling squared.

“Wo…oa…oah”

How could it even be described? There’s the
ocean. And then there’s the ocean filled to utter capacity with
treasure. An undulating amassment of glittering, sparkling gold
with rubies, emeralds, diamonds, vases, goblets, rings and
necklaces riding its waves.

Lian’s knees were itching to fall, like the
pirate who finds his booty at last. And as his eyes adjusted, the
impulse doubled. They were in some sort of colossal rotunda lit by
orbs that aimlessly floated about flickering in the faces of golden
cups and jeweled ornamentals. And in the proud eyes of the Ekladian
leader himself. Festa put his finger to his mouth and gestured
behind his young guest. There, Lian saw two people, a young woman
and an old man sitting at what looked to be potter’s wheels. But it
was not clay they were spinning. It was gold. Gold that forged
expertly in their hands, taking on their visions with wizard ease.
A third goldsmith sat on the floor nestled in a hill of Topaz. His
eyes were deeply concentrated on a design half etched into a
gleaming object of white gold. Beside him a mass of uncut amethyst
lay in conceptual waiting.

“You like what you see?” Festa shone.

“Like? Like is hardly the word. This is…this
is nifty and a half!” Lian cried.

“And yet, your eyes are seeking, boy. What is
it you are wanting?”

Festa’s intuition and skill for reading
others earned him the obvious. He was right, of course. Though a
part of Lian, a largely fiscal part was quite satisfied in ogling
the magnificent Ekladian creations of beauty, he’d come for the
things that stirred his blood, the legendary Ekladian feats of
nature.

Festa grabbed two orbs and handed one to
Lian. “Come.”

He led them back to the door where once again
a whispered password prompted the blue blades to unlace.

The fresh morning light was a blinding
contrast to the end car’s interior but it was not long before Festa
was whispering at the doorway of another caravan car, another
world.

“Festa the Bright!”

Shshshstiiiiiing. The Brine Demon’s
validation.

Festa gestured and followed his guest in.

Here Lian’s eyes saucered. After the dim glow
of the Ekladian treasure car, he was now amazed to find himself in
a huge, bright chamber of clean, bleached wood with a massive
cubical ceiling of diffused light. Here a handful of men and women
worked tirelessly over the objects of their obsession. Lian knew
immediately that this was where great inventing took place and he
felt a slight pang. Skubblenob would have loved this, he thought.
Indeed, with the sparks and pings and quiet
rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrings of tiny engines and gadgets and strange
tools, this was more than true. Skubblenob would have surely given
up the ghost for a mere foot through the door.

Festa led Lian to a man with thick goggles
and wispy grey hair. He seemed to be trying to catch his latest
invention, a collection of dolls in a glowing block of light. There
were five dolls in total, all males with radically colored hair,
leather outfits and platform shoes. They looked mean, the lot of
them and yet vaguely familiar to Lian. They were close to escape
when Festa snatched them with one hand and returned them to the
goggled, wispy haired man.

“Ah, Festa, thank you, my friend. They are
becoming a bit too independent.” The man carefully took his dolls
and placed them kicking and screaming into a round silver box with
a glass lid.

“A tress-mite if you don’t mind, Festa.”

“Not at all.” Festa grabbed a long, corkscrew
like utensil from the man’s table and handed it to him.

“Much obliged!” the man said and began an
intricate procedure on the box.

“Grangen is working on what he calls a
Muse-ical.” Festa explained to Lian.

“Aha! Gotcha!” Grangen held up the now empty
box in victory. Festa nodded to the inventor who was all too eager
to enlighten the curious young boy at his side.

“The Muse-ical is, in short, your very own
traveling band, packaged for easy mobility.”

Lian lit up. Traveling band! That was it!
Those dolls weren’t dolls, they were The Vermin Minstrels! Or at
least replicas of the Vermin Minstrels. Pretty good replicas…
rotten attitude and all.

On Lian’s wide-eyed expression Grangen took
an excited breath and turned over the silver box. “What kind of
music do you like?”

“Um …well, I really liked your music last
night.” Lian offered excitedly.

“Excellent!” The man pulled a handful of
long, square glass sticks from his pocket. “Ah, here we
are…Ekladian…” He put the rest of the glass sticks on the table
and, holding the silver box in his other hand, found a square hole
along its side. He slipped the Ekladian stick in and set the whole
thing down…keeping his fingers crossed.

The silver box flickered and made a few
zapping noises before emitting a wide shaft of red light from its
glass roof. The inventor, preserved in his childlike smile and
expectant eyes raised his crossed fingers as if to say ‘this is
it…get ready…isn’t this so exciting…any second now!’

His surety paid off, for moments later the
beam of light warped and swerved and things began to take shape
within it…heads, legs…instruments. When a complete miniature of
musicians was achieved, the red light faded into to a soft golden
beam, shot out from the box and landed a few feet away. There it
pulsated a bit and jostled around with a few awkward blackouts
until eventually what stood before them was an entire full sized
troupe of Ekladian musicians.

“Requests?” the Bandleader said.

“Green are the Hills!” shouted a delighted
Festa. At once the musicians kicked in. It was all-out hall party
loud and Grangen had to adjust the volume on the box before anyone
could talk. Lian was floored. This was amazing! Oh how he wished
his friends could see this! Especially Dwyn. Dwyn would die for one
of these!

Aside from a few wrinkles and the occasional
offbeat of the drummer here and there, Grangen was pleased. Around
them the other inventors stopped to enjoy the music with clapping
and dancing. But before anyone could get too carried away, and to
Lian’s great relief, before the over eager lady in the corner could
reach him for a do si do, the Muse-ical began to stress. The Vermin
Minstrels returned, flashing in and out and not enjoying it one
bit. And then the Ekladians were put off by the intrusion and a
fight almost broke out. It was here that Grangen pulled the glass
stick, sending the animated light, musicians and all back into its
silver box.

“Just a few wrinkles. Won’t be long.” He
smiled.

Festa was pleased. He spent the interim
proudly introducing Lian to the rest of the inventing team before
steering him away with an affectionate pat on the back. “Come.” He
said and soon they were facing the door of another caravan car.

Inside this one they were met with the
banging and hammering of carpenters. And again they were working in
complete opposition to the car’s actual size. Indeed these workers
were actually outside while they were inside and, fully advantaged
by fresh air and ample space, they were building another caravan
car altogether! It boggled Lian’s mind.

And yet with this, the third car of the
Ekladian caravan being still the tip of the iceberg, they moved
on.

From here a pyramidal chamber full of the
finest textiles Lian had ever seen, all placed upon a complex
treadmill of shelving that spiraled the room like a rollercoaster.
In a distant corner Lian spied the very same Wesh fibre that had
become their magical cloaks. All this was lit by a grand tier of
crystal chandeliers, each one larger than the other as they
cascaded from the ceiling toward them. The white marbled floor,
strewn with loose cuttings and fabrics and nests of thread
positively hummed of magical seamsters. From these would come the
garmentry of royalty and other such wondrous creations ordered from
every corner of DréAmm.