by G Sauvé
What’s happening to me?
I fight the transformation, but the pain is overwhelming. I’m about to lose touch with reality again when Kara’s face emerges from the fog of confusion.
“Relax,” she coaxes. “Focus on your breathing.”
I do as she says, and it seems to help. The pain and heat are still there, but I’m back in control. I close my eyes and focus on my lungs. The deeper my breathing, the less pain there is. After a while, it vanishes completely, taking the heat with it.
I open my eyes and glance at my hand. It looks normal.
“It’s okay,” says Kara. “Everything’s okay.”
“No,” says Jonn. “It’s not.”
I don’t understand what he means until I sit up and see the dozen tall figures that surround us. The sun is all but gone, and it’s too dark for me to see clearly, yet I make out scales and claws.
Dinosaurs.
A soft whistling fills the air, and something sharp barrels into my neck. Compared to my recent torture, the pain is negligible, yet I feel around in search of the projectile.
It’s a dart. At least I think it is. My vision is blurry, and I feel as though I’m about to pass out. I barely have time to realize I’ve been shot with a poison dart before toppling over. The last thing I see is the ground rushing toward me.
Memory 23
M y eyes flutter open, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m still alive. For now.
My head throbs softly, and I can’t move, but I’m otherwise unharmed. I try to take in my surroundings, but the sun is just coming up over the horizon, and the angle of its rays blind me. At least, now I know it’s morning. But what use is that information when I don’t know where I am? Or how I got here?
I think back to my last clear memory. It takes a while, but the ambush finally comes back to me.
“I was drugged,” I mutter.
“Way to state the obvious,” mumbles a voice to my right. I turn to find Jonn tied to a large wooden stake.
“There’s no need to be snarky,” says Kara. She’s on my left, also tied to a stake. Odds are, I’m in the same boat—it would explain why I can’t move.
“Yes, there is,” insists Jonn. “If Mr. Obvious here hadn’t distracted me with his weird seizure, I could have protected us.”
“There was nearly a dozen of them,” reminds Kara.
“Doesn’t matter,” retorts her father.
“They had dinosaurs.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“You only had a knife.”
“Does. Not. Matter.”
Jonn and Kara continue arguing, but I’m no longer listening. The sun has divorced the horizon, and I can now make out our surroundings.
I start with my immediate environment, then work my way outward. As expected, my friends and I are strapped to wooden stakes. The rope that binds us appears handcrafted, though I’m not sure what use that information is to us. The massive slab of stone that stands beneath our feet gives way to a staircase after a few metres. Beyond it stretches a large clearing, every centimetre of which overflows with children. At least, I think they’re children until I stop taking them in as a whole and focus on the individuals.
They’re short—about one metre in height—and quite hideous. Their skin is the colour of ash, and their features are disproportionate to the point of being grotesque. Cyrano de Bergerac noses. Beady rat eyes. Buck teeth that would make a rabbit jealous. Dobby-like drooping ears. Wicked Witch warts. Boils the size of grapefruits. Enough freckles to put a redhead to shame. The combinations are endless, but each iteration is equally hideous.
Gnomes. It’s the only word I can think of to describe the odd humanoids.
I glance at my companions, but they’re still arguing.
“Hey, guys,” I say. “I think you should look at this.”
No response. I try again, only to be ignored once more.
“GUYS!” I yell.
“What?” snaps Jonn.
“We have company.”
“What are you…” he begins, but his voice trails off when he notices the mass of gnomes. Kara seems equally stunned by the discovery.
I take advantage of my companions’ distraction to focus on the buzz of conversation. I concentrate on individual voices, but I can’t understand a single word. It’s odd. I’m usually able to grasp the meaning of the simplest words from the get-go. I guess my ability to understand languages doesn’t apply to gnomish.
“What are they?” asks Jonn.
“I think the better question is ‘what are they saying?’” I point out.
“Why are you asking me?” asks the grey-haired soldier.
“I thought you could understand all languages.”
“Yeah? Well, you thought wrong.”
“But Kara said—”
“‘Kara said.’ ‘Kara said.’ Can’t you think for yourself?”
Jonn is starting to get on my nerves, but Kara cuts in before things can degenerate.
“What my father is trying to say is that our microchips allow us to understand most languages, not all of them.”
Oops. My bad. I’m debating whether to say this aloud when Jonn starts yelling.
“Hey! Give that BACK!”
I follow his gaze to a gnome in the first row. He’s playing with something shiny. It’s Jonn’s locket. He must have stolen it while we were unconscious.
“Give it back!” demands Jonn, but his outburst only excites the gnome further. He starts throwing the locket into the air, giggling giddily as each new throw tears an angry growl from the soldier’s lips. I’m about to point out the futility of Jonn’s approach when something unexpected happens.
The gnome’s skin changes colour.
It starts with his nose but quickly spreads to the rest of his body. Within seconds, his entire frame is the colour of mustard—yellow, not Dijon. It’s freaky but cool. And it only gets cooler when the pigment shift spreads to the nearby gnomes. Within seconds, the entire crowd has shifted.
Oblivious to the odd turn of events, Jonn keeps yelling.
“Don’t you get it?” asks Kara. “You’re just getting them more excited.”
She’s right, not that Jonn cares. He keeps screaming and demands the gnomes return his locket. But I pay little attention to him as I have just noticed something that is of far greater interest.
I understand what the gnomes are saying.
At first, it’s only a word here and there, but the more I listen, the more I comprehend. Before long I have confirmed Kara’s theory.
“They think it’s a game,” I say.
Jonn keeps yelling, oblivious to everything around him.
“SHUT UP!” I yell.
That does the trick. Both Jonn and the gnomes fall silent, the latter reverting to their original tint.
“They think it’s a game,” I explain. “The more you yell, the more they’ll throw your locket around.”
“That’s ridiculous,” says Jonn.
“Try yelling again, then stop and see what happens.”
“Why—”
“Just try it,” interrupts Kara. “What do you have to lose?”
Jonn doesn’t seem convinced, but he starts yelling again. Immediately, the gnomes begin throwing the locket around. Within seconds, they turn yellow and laughter fills the air. Only one of them remains untainted. He’s smaller than the others, and his facial features are properly proportioned. He seems to be having fun, but his skin remains unpigmented.
After a while, Jonn stops yelling, and the gnomes instantly stop throwing the locket.
“How did you know that would work?” he asks.
“Well, I kind of… understand them.”
“How?” wonders Kara.
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “I always had a knack for languages, but I never thought it would work for… well, whatever these creatures are.”
“We’re korrigans!” yells one of the gnomes. Is he talking to me? Can he understand me? I’m about to
try communicating with them when one of the small beings steps forward. The rest of the group immediately falls silent and reverts to its original colour. Whoever this gnome is, he’s important. The ceremonial robe he wears tells me he’s some sort of priest or religious leader.
The gnome scales the stone staircase and turns to address his people. I understand some of what he says, but there are many words I fail to grasp. Clearly, I have yet to master their language. Nonetheless, I understand enough to uncover the nature of their intent.
“What’s he saying?” asks Kara. “What do they want from us?”
“They want to kill us.”
Memory 24
K ara and Jonn stare at me like I’m crazy. I can’t blame them. After all, I just told them our captors plan on killing us.
“Why?” asks Jonn.
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “From what I can gather, they’re planning on sacrificing us to some god.”
“Which god?” asks Kara.
“Does it matter?” retorts Jonn.
“It could.”
“Why would—”
“Shut up!” I order, cutting off the grey-haired soldier. He doesn’t seem pleased but falls silent.
I focus on the gnome’s voice. Most of what he says sounds like gibberish, but I manage to make out the occasional word.
“…Korrigana…”
“…sacrifice…”
Every so often the gnomes react to the priest’s words by changing colour. They turn yellow when they’re happy or excited, red when they’re angry, and blue when they’re sad. I’m sure there are many other variations, but I’m too focused on the priest’s speech to notice.
“…appease her wrath…”
“…sacrificial knife…”
“What’s going on?” asks Kara after a while.
“Their god—I think her name is Korrigana—is angry at them, and they hope sacrificing us will appease her wrath.”
“Are you sure?” asks Jonn.
“No,” I admit, but I change my mind when the small gnome I noticed before steps forth, a knife balanced atop his open palms.
I stare at the glistening blade until I can no longer bear the sight of it, then focus on the gnome carrying it. He’s short—just over half a metre tall—and bears skin so dark it’s almost black. His hair is aflame with the brightest shade of orange I’ve ever seen. So are his irises. Even his nails are the colour of fire. He reminds me of a cooling ember—mostly black with the occasional orange spot.
The small gnome approaches the priest and offers him the knife. The taller gnome takes it and shoos him away. Instead of retreating, he shuffles beyond the priest’s field of vision and starts staring at me. He seems fascinated, but it’s not until his gaze lands on my hourglass symbol that his little eyes light up with excitement.
He rushes over to the priest and tugs on his robes, but all he gets for his troubles is a kick to the butt. He tries a few more times before finally giving up.
I feel sorry for the poor little guy, so I give him a big smile to cheer him up. He takes it as an invitation and hurries over to me. He inspects my wrist for a moment before reaching out and touching the symbol that adorns it.
“Don’t,” I protest, but it’s already too late. Pain erupts from my wrist, luring a moan past my lips. More soon follow when the now familiar agony of ripping muscles and shattering bones overpowers me. I try to fight for a few seconds, but the mysterious force is too much for me to handle.
I give in to the pain and heat. As soon as I do, the discomfort vanishes. The heat persists, but it’s no longer unbearable. My body twists into unnatural shapes, but I refuse to look. It’s not until the heat finally fades that I dare open my eyes.
I’m met with the most unexpected of sights. The ocean of gnomes that stretches before me has turned fuchsia, and every last one of them is now prostrate. But even more shocking is the object of their devotion.
Me.
Memory 25
I watch, wide eyed, as the gnomes prostrate themselves before me. I don’t know why they do it, nor do I care. I’m just glad they’re no longer planning on killing us.
From what I understand, the small beings are like living, breathing mood rings, which means their current rosy complexion indicates a high level of affection. In other words, they’re in love with me.
Of all the small humanoids present, only one remains upright. The orange-haired gnome stands less than a metre away, staring at me.
“What are you—” I begin, but the question dies in my throat when I notice how tall the once tiny being seems. He looks no different than he did before I had my seizure, yet he’s now as tall as me. The other gnomes also appear to have grown. Even my surroundings seem to have expanded. It’s not until I glance at Kara that it finally hits me.
She’s huge. So is Jonn. Either they grew, along with everything else around me, or—
“You shrunk!” says Jonn.
Dammit!
I don’t want to believe it, but the transformation is impossible to deny. Not only am I a mere half metre tall, but my once pasty complexion has grown black, matching the small gnome’s skin. This, coupled with the carrot-like colour of my nails proves I did more than shrink.
I replicated the small gnome’s appearance.
It takes a few seconds, but I finally lose it. I struggle against my restraints, which are now loose. Within seconds I’m hopelessly tangled, and I have no choice but to stop squirming.
“You can shift?” says Kara.
“Shift?”
“Replicating another person’s appearance.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” asks Jonn.
I shoot him an angry look.
“I didn’t know.”
There’s a moment of silence before Kara speaks again.
“It’s a good thing that didn’t happen while you were in Atlantis.”
“Why?”
“Avalon can shift,” she explains. “If you had shifted, proving you aren’t working with her would have been impossible.”
She’s right. Not that it matters. Who cares if Avalon can shift? All I care about right now is finding a way to reverse the effects of whatever it is that caused me to shift.
“What should I do?” I ask. “Someone tell me what to do.”
“Take advantage of the situation,” says Jonn.
I don’t understand what he means until I realize the gnomes are still prostrate. Even the small being whose appearance I duplicated has dropped to the ground. Seeing me shift must have convinced them I’m some sort of god. While ridiculous, the unexpected turn of events may well be our salvation.
Time to put my language abilities to the test.
I start with something simple.
“Stand.”
Nothing happens.
“Try again,” urges Kara.
“Stand.”
Still nothing.
“Again,” says Jonn.
“Stand.” This time I put all of my energy into it. At first, nothing happens, but then the orange-haired gnome stands. Moments later, the others follow. Before long, every last one of the small humanoids is standing.
I glance at my companions. Kara is beaming. Even Jonn seems impressed.
“Tell them to release us,” he says.
“Release us,” I say. Immediately, the smallest of the gnomes hurries over to the priest and snatches the knife from his hands. Moments later, he’s slicing my restraints.
I’m free.
I can’t believe it worked, but I refuse to let my incredulity ruin what may well be our only chance of surviving.
“Can I have it?” I ask, nodding to the knife. My twin doesn’t seem to understand my words, but he correctly interprets my nod and hands me the weapon. I grab it and hurry over to Kara.
It’s not until I’m standing next to her that I realize how tiny I am. The top of my head reaches no higher than halfway up her thigh. I feel inadequate, but I refuse to let that stop me. I slice through Kara’s
bonds. I can only reach the bottom half of the restraints, but the highest one frees her hands, which allows her to take possession of the knife and use it to free herself. Moments later, she’s cutting her father loose.
“What now?” I ask once we’re all free.
My friends don’t answer. Instead, they just stand there, staring at me.
“What—” I begin, but I fall silent when I realize what’s happening.
I’m growing.
My limbs lengthen, and the colour of my skin reverts to its original shade. Within seconds, I’m me again. The shift was quick and painless, something I’m both surprised by and grateful for. But most of all, I’m just happy to be me again.
No one speaks for the longest time. My friends just stand there and stare at me.
“What now?” I ask, desperate to wipe the stunned looks from Kara and Jonn’s faces. It seems to work because they’re back to their old selves in a matter of seconds.
“I think it’s time we get some answers,” offers Kara. Jonn nods in agreement.
I turn to the gnomes.
“Can you take us to your leader?” I ask.
The priest falters for a moment, then gives me a broad smile and gestures for me to follow him. Moments later, he’s making his way down the stone steps. My friends and I hesitate for a moment, then follow.
Memory 26
T he priest leads us through the crowd. Gnomes stare at me as we pass, oohing and aahing. Jonn and Kara follow close behind, doing their best to go unnoticed. They succeed until we reach the gnome who holds Jonn’s locket.
“Gimme that!” snaps the hulking soldier as he snatches the pendant from the humanoid’s hands. Thinking it’s a game, the gnome tries to steal it back, but Jonn growls at him and the gnome retreats, whimpering.
The priest leads us into the jungle. The sounds of the prehistoric wilderness momentarily overpower me, but the throbbing of my injured feet is a bountiful source of distraction. Now that the adrenaline rush of nearly getting sacrificed has passed, I’m all too aware of the pitiful state of my feet. Luckily, the journey is short.