Glory Alley and the Star Riders (The Glory Alley Series) (71 page)

The Wind.
I
nvisible, unseen, but
a
might
y
force of nature, moving the water, wind and weather
.

And the whifferdil.
S
pongy
ketchup
red and
golden
yellow,
smart fibers hold riders fast,
thin on the outside,
impossibly
deep on the inside
;
bubbles, rising, gliding.

A crystal cle
ar vision of the jungle
materialized
in her head.
She could almost see the whifferdil now
. F
ocus
. Focus…
there it was
, c
lear as day
in her mind
,
rolled up
,
and
lean
ing
against the trunk of a
palm
tree
.
“Blow, wind, blow,”
s
he
mouthed the words
.
Green jungle fronds began to sway
.
Glory
imagined the wind flowing around the straps
around
the red
whifferdil
.
She
w
illed
the strap to release, and in
the
vision,
it did
. The
whifferdil opened
and plumped in an instant,
like a
rescue raft full of air
.
The
wind caught
the whifferdil
before it hit the ground, gathering beneath it, lifting it upward
.
She
willed the breeze to pick up the
craft
.
And
it obeyed, carrying
the flying wedge
through the air
.
To the Bamboozle with you
,
Glory
encouraged
.
The whifferdil flew toward the middle of the jungle
.
Higher it went, circling the Bamboozle
’
s hollow stack,
leaving a trail of bubbles behind until it hovered over the
tall stem’s
opening.

Her mind came back to where she stood
inside the Bamboozle
.
A wet dog smell filled h
er
nostrils. The riplets were stack
ed up to her calves.
The creatures
gnash
ed
and claw
ed
at each other, there activity growing more frenzied
.
Warm rodent blood splattered h
er
face
.
Both she and
Clash
winced as droplets hit
their
cheeks
.

She lost the vision.

Her eyes popped
opened and gazed
hopefully
upward
.
Nothing but black sky and twinkling stars
up there
—
so much for that idea.
Riplets scuttled over h
er
feet and brushed against knees
.
It was just a matter
of time before they turned on the both of them
.
They reached out over th
e sea of riplets to grasp hands, while held the Sliver with the other,
morbidly
intent on videoing their gruesome deaths..

“Friends ‘til the end?” Clash said.

“Friends ‘til…”
Suddenly,
a weight came down on her, blocking out the light coming from the top of the Bamboozle
.
Something large and solid, but
airy
and soft,
landed on h
er
head
.
When
s
he swatted
at it
,
she
recognized the spongy texture
.
“
The whifferdil!
”
S
he mouthed the words, pointing frantically with one finger as she held onto it with one hand.
I did it! I did it!

Clash’s
face pinched in puzzlement
.
G
lory patt
ed
the whifferdil,
and
then point
ed
at the hole at the top of the Bamboozle, which only served to make
Clash
’s already frightened eyes grow larger
.
But
they weren’t
out of the Bamboozle yet, and as much as
s
he dreaded the idea of drawing attention to
their
presence
,
they
had to make a move
in order to climb onto the whifferdil
.

She
pushed it over on top of a batch of scurrying riplets
and with a sweep of the hand
,
ushered
Clash
to climb on board
.

At first
he
resisted, but
Glory repeatedly gestured for him to climb on
.
Clash
stepped on board, shaking riplets off h
is
ankles.
Glory
stepped into the pilot’s seat.
The creatures began to climb up the legs of
Glory’s
pajamas
.
They crawled onto the whifferdil and began to chew on its edges
.
Glory
’s
concentration was
fried
.

“
Elboni
, Whifferd
il
, Wind,”
s
he
whispered.

“What are you doing?
”
Clash
whispered
back
.

“
Shhh
,” she ordered
.
“I need complete concentration
.
”
A
riplet
bit through the arm of her coat.
“
Yo
w
ch
!”

“Ow!”
Clash
cried out
.
“Ow
!
Oh,
bloody gut bucket,
they’re eat
ing
us alive!”

“Shhhh!”

Focus,
s
he tr
i
ed
to conjure up an image of the indigo stone releasing a stream of magical twinkling stars
,
and
she imagined
the whifferdil absorbing them
.
“Yow
ch
!”
A riplet was on h
er
shoulder now
.

“Help me, Great
Elboni
,”
s
he
said
louder
this time
.
“What do I do?”

Suddenly,
t
he imag
e of a corked wine bottle filled her head
.
That’s it!

T
he bamboozle
was
the glass bottle.
The
air
inside
—
champagne
.
The whifferdil
was
a
bubble waiting to be released
.
Only one thing left to do—pop the cork
.
The riplets swarmed over the whifferdil
.
She
felt another bite and knew only seconds
remained before she
and
Clash
became object
s
of a feeding frenzy.
Bite, tear, chomp
went the riplets
.

The whifferdil began to bubble and hiss
.
All
s
he had to do was release the cork at the top of the bottle
.
Glancing up at the stack to the night sky above
—
s
he
willed t
he bubble
to rise
to the top of the bottle, air pressure building up, up
and
up
.
POP
!
Effortlessly, and without warning, the
whifferdil shot up through the st
ack
with tremendous speed
.