by Kevin Hearne
“My opinion is that you should aaall get out more. Every dwarf on Meadschpringå makes boneheaded comments like thaaat to someone and ends up in a fight.”
“Oh, I know, I know! The isolation is not good. It’s one of the reasons we must all come down from the mountains. It is a time of much-needed growth. But growing is often uncomfortable. Painful, even.”
His lower lip was trembling, and Agape was terrified he was going to cry and that she might be required to comfort him, which would involve all sorts of awkward things like hugging or patting or saying horrific phrases like there, there. Up until this week, she had barely touched anyone outside of her parents, and her mother had constantly warned her about terrible diseases carried by strangers, so she was rather concerned about catching some bug or another that might be living in Båggi’s beard.
“Don’t feel baaad,” she managed. “Everything will look up tomorrow morning.”
“It will?” Båggi asked, daring to hope.
No, Gerd said from somewhere nearby, accompanied by the death squeaks of a pine marten. There will be a rainstorm tomorrow. I can smell the aether churning. The lightning will be most violent; the clouds will be most glümee; the air will be most moïste.
Båggi sighed, dejected. “Oh, crumbs. Can’t even rent an umbrella. I was not prepared for this.”
Hunching his head in between his shoulders, he stumped off toward a twisted old willow rooted in a crook of the river. With the sun’s rays painting everything pink and purple and the willow’s whips whispering in the wind, it was a very beautiful place for a dwarf to have a nice sulk. But as soon as Båggi walked under the grand green canopy, the tree shivered, and the leaf-lined branches bent down and shot into the ground around him, going ramrod straight and effectively caging him.
“Båååååååggi!” Agape cried, galloping two steps away from him in sheep-like fear before forcing her legs to turn and take her in the other direction. “Somebody, help!”
She ran to where Båggi was struggling to escape, wrapped her fingers around the branches, now effectively bars, and tugged as hard as she could. They didn’t budge, bend, or break, but a few of the tree’s furry catkins did flutter to the ground in annoyance.
“I didn’t know trees could do this!” Båggi exclaimed. “Maybe it’s nice, though. Does it want to be friends? Should I…hug it?” But Agape could hear the tone of terror in his voice and see his knuckles gone white. She could also see, at the base of the trunk, a rather ominous hole. It was large enough to fit a dwarf in.
“This is not normal,” she said, reaching for the whittling knife at her belt. Gritting her teeth, she sawed at one of the willow branches, but it merely bled sap and utterly resisted weakening. “Faucon, your sword!” she cried.
The rest of the group galloped into view, led by Gerd and Faucon, with the gnomes trotting breathlessly in their wake and wincing with each step. Faucon had his sword drawn.
“Stand back,” he muttered darkly.
Agape got out of his way, and Båggi scrunched down into the corner of his willow cage. Faucon took up a dancer-like position, one hand behind his back and the other brandishing his sword, but as he leapt forward to strike, the willow branches shot out with equal speed, wrapping around his wrist and, to Agape’s horror, his neck. She lunged forward to try to slice the branches holding him, but they caught her too. Bleating in fear, she struggled to get loose and run away, but her hooves merely carved a groove into the soft turf as the tree pulled her closer to its gnarled, pitted trunk and the hole that looked ever more like a hungry mouth. With the implacable tenderness of an angry parent, the slender, vine-like branches pulled Agape and Faucon more firmly under the tree’s canopy and rooted new branch-bars to trap them in cages just like Båggi’s.
A loud and insulted beeping off to Agape’s right suggested that Piini was moving to protect her, but the aged machine wasn’t fast or strong enough. The branches caught him too, curling into the crevices between his limbs and body and holding him fast to the ground.
“What is happening?” Kirsi shouted. “Is it a person or a thing? Is it evil or hungry? Did anyone remember to use manners?” Trotting up to the edge of the tree’s periphery, she gave one of her signature curtsies and said, “Hello, beautiful willow. Would you please, pretty please with pudding on top, let go of my friends?”
In response, the tree’s vines shot out to grab her. She was saved at the last minute by Onni, who grabbed the back of her sweater and tugged her onto her rump.
“Sorry for rumpling your cardigan,” he said.
“I forgive you,” Kirsi replied, with what Agape considered a strange amount of formal frostiness as the gnome girl brushed the wrinkles from her blue sweater.
“I’m afraid it doesn’t want to be friends after all,” Båggi moaned from Agape’s other side. “I hugged it, and it gave me a splinter! The under-the-nail kind!”
This tree defies nature! Gerd called. She dashed back and forth in front of Faucon’s cage, tail lashing as she hissed and spit. I wish to fight it! Fight me, tree!
But the tree ignored her, possibly because it couldn’t hear thoughts and possibly because it seemed to ignore everything that wasn’t close enough to grab. Plus, it was hungry. The branches of each cage moved one bar at a time on the outer edges, lifting from the earth and then replanting a bit closer to the center, where the hole at the base of the trunk definitely looked more mouthy. They would be swallowed up soon if the gnomes didn’t act.
“What can we do?” Onni asked.
“I kind of thought you would just…know,” Kirsi said, scrunching her eyebrows at Onni.
“I didn’t really battle willow trees back home in Pavaasik,” he said, a little sniffy, and rubbed the place between his eyes. “We should ask Piini. Piini Automaatti, what kind of tree is that?”
“It is known as a willowmaw. It will eat any kind of meat.”
“Piini Automaatti, how do we fight it?”
“Stand back and fire flaming arrows into it.”
That wouldn’t help. If they set the tree on fire, they’d set their trapped friends on fire too. And they didn’t have bows and arrows anyway.
Gerd took to the sky, circling overhead, and she let out a mighty squawk. Something is coming! she shouted. I see it moving through the forest, shaking the branches.
Båggi had his hands on the bars of his wooden cage, staring at them forlornly, his cudgel slung dormant and useless at his side.
“Now would be a good time for thaaat cudgel!” Agape shouted to Båggi, but he just held up a red swollen finger and muttered, “Splinters make me sad.”
For her part, Agape was still trying to break or slice the branches, but Faucon stood calmly in the center of his cell, rubbing his chin as he considered the maw of the tree toward which they were being drawn. It was unnerving, for Agape, how calm the halfling seemed upon the cusp of becoming fertilizer.
It approacheth! Gerd called, and Agape’s head snapped around toward the strange sound coming from the wood.
Everything went silent, and then a man’s voice rang out, deep and booming, saying the last thing anyone expected.
“The first rule of demigods is that you don’t talk about demigods. The second rule of demigods is that—ghrktff!”
—TÖILER DORDIN, in Secrets They Don’t Want You to Kno—ghrktff (unfinished)
Kirsi wobbled on feet that were mostly blister, disappointed that Onni hadn’t already heroically saved the day and anxious to see who this new possible hero might be. His voice was jolly and as welcoming as a bowl of roasted chestnuts as he sang:
“I’m Tommy Bombastic and I’m here to say
That it looks like you might get eaten today!”
A man emerged from the woods, snapping his fingers and doing a little dance that suggested he was entirely lacking sympathy for the plight of those caught by the will
ow and close to being dragged into its dirty hole. His features possessed a mixture of traits from gnomes, dwarves, halflings, and humans, all without really representing one species completely; he was like a person milkshake. His beard was bushy and long, his cap hung at a rakish angle, his cardigan was well kept and embroidered with shooting stars, and the belt buckle struggling to hold in his round belly featured a hedgehog and instantly reminded Kirsi of the one Båggi wore. The man’s feet were bare, and although not nearly as hirsute as those of Faucon, he was wearing a rather fetching gold toe ring with a cut ruby nestled in the center on his second toe.
“Help?” Båggi said in an experimental sort of way, as if he wasn’t quite sure of the protocol for talking to strange dancing men with nice belt buckles in the middle of a life-or-death situation.
“Hey, ho, here we go. You messed with the Willow of Death, you know.”
As the man finished this last bit, he did a handstand and waggled his legs, ending in a sort of spin on his shoulder that made Kirsi and Onni both grimace at the grass stains that should’ve appeared on his cardigan. But his cardigan remained perfectly perfect, and Kirsi began to suspect that magic was afoot.
What is this? Gerd asked, landing between the man and the captives and going into a protective crouch.
“I told you once but I’ll tell you twice:
I’m Tommy Bombastic, so you’d better be nice!
I’m older than Pell and you’d better step back;
Let me save your friends from this Willowmuck attack.”
Tommy, if that was his name, ended on his side, one arm supporting his head and his leg kicked up in a saucy manner.
“Are we…supposed to clap?” Kirsi asked, giving a brief curtsy.
Leaping to his feet, Tommy swaggered over to the willowmaw—named Willowmuck, apparently—with the whole party watching him. He ducked under the canopy, but the vines and branches didn’t touch him—they actively moved out of his way. With a wink, he casually approached the ragged maw and whispered something into the tree’s bark. The tree shivered as if in surprise, and the branches forming the cage went noodly and withdrew into the canopy so suddenly that Båggi, who was clutching them, got burns on his hands. Slender withes swooped down to pat them all gently on the shoulders, as if in apology.
“What the Pell?” Agape asked, rubbing the places on her wrists where branches had held her.
Tommy raised his eyebrows at her and swept his hands in a get away from the murdertree sort of way, so Agape helped Båggi stagger out into darkening dusk, where the logs were laid out around the not-yet-and-possibly-never-to-be lit campfire. The ovitaur and the dwarf sat together, huddled almost shoulder to shoulder, Kirsi noted; it was as if Båggi longed to snuggle closer in an unromantic way, while Agape was terrified of being touched. Accustomed to the general cuddliness of gnomes, Kirsi felt bad for them both. Piini glumped along and took his place behind the ovitaur. Onni sat back against another log, and Kirsi joined him, their dainty legs splayed in front of them and quivering with exhaustion, and Faucon casually strolled away from the tree, sword in place, as if he hadn’t been held captive by branches just a few short moments before. As for Gerd, she kept her distance from Tommy, pacing back and forth with her neck feathers up and her ear feathers down in a mixture of fear and distrust.
Once everyone was seated, Tommy did seven handsprings, landed facing the pile of branches, tossed something among them, and held up his arms as flames roared against the first shy twinkling of evening stars.
“Oh, my snuff and other stuff, that was impressive!” Båggi shouted, although Tommy did hold a finger to his lips to quiet the overexcited dwarf back down. When everyone was silent and focused, the man gave a bow and began singing in a sort of angry, poetic way that reminded Kirsi of a fist rapping at a door.
“Hey, yo, fiddle, o. I already told you my name.
I’m Tommy B. and living long and well is my game.
I’m older than your grandma’s socks and wiser than her noodle,
I’m dancier than a frying frog and fancier than a poodle.
I saved your butts from the willowmaw
But it looks like you’re still in trouble,
So follow me home for some ale with foam
And if you’re pretty, I’ll make it a double.”
When he bowed, there was an odd silence, followed by polite but unenthusiastic clapping. Kirsi clapped for the part where Tommy had saved her friends from a hungry tree but not so much for the part where her allotted ale depended on a physical exam and arbitrary judgment of physical beauty. Her eyes met Agape’s, and Agape gave her a look that said, Oh, great. Another one of these guys.
“Ale! Oh, I do so love a mug of frothy ale!” Båggi enthused. “And his hat is oh so dapper,” he stage-whispered to Agape. The dwarf bounded over to his worldly goods and began to rummage gingerly around in his picnic basket. “I, for one, am ready to enjoy your hospitality, friend! But I confess I need to quickly apply some of Thurgood Thane’s Pain Nixer Elixir, and maybe a squirt of No-Hurt Burt’s Ouchie Soother and Skin Smoother as well, for that Willowmuck sure made a mess of my hands.”
As the dwarf rubbed flowery-smelling goop on his hands and moaned in relief, Agape stood and shouldered her pack. The look she gave Tommy Bombastic suggested she wasn’t so sure about their current situation.
Considering their run-in with the willowmaw—whatever that was—Kirsi had to assume this particular area was more dangerous than most, with or without a campfire, so she, for one, was willing to follow their savior. She, too, stood and shouldered her pack, and Onni followed suit. Faucon stood as well, and they all gave one another grim nods as if to say, Well, here we go, possibly following a lunatic to our doom.
Tommy skipped along, fairy lanterns appearing in each hand. Båggi followed him, imitating his dance, with Agape and Piini following close. Kirsi and Onni went along in the gnomeric way, but Kirsi could hear Faucon and Gerd whispering in their wake. Eventually the gryphone capitulated and paced along in back, though she kept making some noises deep in her throat that curiously sounded somewhere between a trill and a growl.
“What about the fire?” Agape asked, turning to watch the flames leap high.
Tommy gave her a head nod by lantern light. The trapped fairy within the pierced metal could be heard screaming faintly.
“Forget about the fire, babe, and come to see my tree.
Those flames will simmer down but you’ll get hot when you’re with me.”
“Ooookay,” Agape said. She dropped back, just a little, as if fearing Tommy might try to put a proprietary arm around her shoulder.
Kirsi did her best to remain cheerful, but her feet and legs felt like mincemeat. When she stumbled and squeaked for the third time, she felt hands gently grasp her middle and swing her through the air. Too tired to protest, she hoped whatever was going to eat her did so quickly and without too much smacking of the lips. But then she landed on Gerd’s back, and Faucon swung Onni up behind her. The gryphon’s fur was soft and clean, her stride easy and languid.
Faucon thought you would be more comfortable traveling this way, Gerd explained, almost a whisper. I hope you will find some succor as your smöl feet suppurate. I will clean my fur later.
“Many thanks,” Kirsi said with great feeling, echoed by Onni. She risked a glance at Faucon. To think: a halfling considering her feelings!
For a while, Kirsi slept, splayed over Gerd’s wide back. After what felt like hours, they came upon a huge, sprawling tree that had to be centuries old, its long branches supported here and there by bars and props as they swooped toward the ground and angled back upward. Various rooms and bridges and twisted sets of stairs were strung together in what would’ve been a very classy home had there not been a giant fairy-lit sign reading TOMMYWOOD plastered across the front. Fireflies blinked along with a dance tune floa
ting on the breeze, and drunken pixies sat on a branch, hefting tiny mugs and hollering things like, “Yeah, sweet cheeks! I like that mutton!” and “Flash me some ankle, dainty legs!” and “I’ll put the fun in gryphon, girly!”
“Um,” Agape said.
“I second that um,” Kirsi added.
I wish to eat those pixies, Gerd confirmed. With or without sauce. For once, I do not feel picky.
But Tommy was throwing open the main door, ushering them into a warmly lit kitchen. The air was perfumed with a cologne that made Kirsi pinch her nose to keep from sneezing. Although she instinctively distrusted Tommy Bombastic, she also understood that he was a being of great power and she should avoid rousing his anger, especially over his choice of eau de toilette.
As she stepped into the kitchen, she realized something was amiss with Agape: Piini still stood outside at the bottom stair, focusing on it. Most likely, the machine had run the calculations of his mass compared to the stair’s delicate carvings and determined it wouldn’t hold his weight. Poor Agape looked as if she felt quite vulnerable without her metal friend.
“Piini Automaatti, wait there. I’ll be aaalright,” the ovitaur said.
He looked up, and his eyes gave an interrogative flare.
“It’ll be fine.”
The machine’s head hung, and Kirsi felt sorry for them both. She missed her family every day, and now Agape had lost her parents and was finding places in the world where Piini could neither follow her nor protect her.