Alfred 2: And The Underworld (Alfred the Boy King)

by Ron Smorynski

  Illuminated far above were several stone-like picts. They stood precariously yet skillfully on a steep stone wall. They held a metal pipe with what looked like a small crank handle and set of gears. Alfred squinted his eyes to try to discern what it was. Then he realized it had a long pipe with some sort of javelin loaded into it, aimed right at him!

  “Oh boy.”Alfred left the oil lamp on the rock filled with gems and put his hands up in surrender. The picts shrugged and kept their aim. Alfred then saw several more eyes appear near him. It was difficult to see them amidst the sparkling of the gems, but they were there.

  One raised his arm and waved at the group high up with their shooting device.

  Alfred gulped. “My name is Alfred. King Alfred. I mean you no harm.”

  The picts slowly crawled out of their hiding places. There must have been a dozen or so, all in various coverings of dried caked mud that gave them the appearance of stone. The one who raised his arm, carried a large pickaxe. Though small in a human hand, the tool still looked as heavy and thickset as a regular human-sized hammer. The picts were the size of small children yet looked as sturdy and able as strong men. They all had bushy straggly hair, thick beards and mustaches and big black eyes. Alfred soon realized that their eyes were so black because of how dilated their pupils were. He could see only hints of white in their eyes.

  One crept in closer and sniffed Alfred with his big nose. He came so close! Alfred tried not to move but flinched a few times. Each movement caused the picts to raise their weapons, ready to strike. The oil lamp kept sending a dull twinkle of lights up the cave walls, illuminating the snipers above. Alfred feared that they might fire their device every time he flinched. He was right to fear, as they almost did. The pict next to him kept a hand signal raised to keep them at bay.

  Alfred quivered in fear. Tears came to his eyes. It was mental torture, feeling the sensation of a javelin being aimed right at you, ready to be fired.

  Another vile looking stone-skinned pict leapt up and said to the first one, “He's just a boy-man!”

  The first waved the second off and came closer again. Alfred started sniffling and tearing up. He couldn't control it. The fear of being shot while standing in surrender overwhelmed him.

  The closer pict suddenly swung his pickaxe at Alfred's foot. Alfred screamed in horrific pain and bent over to grab his foot. He cried and fell. This pict raised his weapon and twirled around to the others who were cheering.

  “Why? Why did you do that? I come in peace.”

  “Now you do, boy-man! I just saved your life!” the one said.

  “Saved my life?”

  “Yes...” the pict swung his pickaxe at his own overly sized bare foot with even more ferocity and seemed to feel nothing. He raised his arms wide in theatrical defiance. “As weak and measly as you upperfolk are, we can bring the pain to you! Hey? We are as tough as stone.”

  “We aren't here to harm you!” Alfred cried back.

  “Oh! Then why bring the sun down here? Huh? What magic was that? To burn us all to death?”

  “What sun? What are you talking about?!” cried Alfred, sobbing.

  “We saw you... we spied you! Blinding us with that sun light! Going to burn us by bringing it down here, are you?”

  “No! No, that wasn't sun, uh, light! I was talking to Tirnalth the wizard.”

  “Talking to whah? A wizard? Tear Nath...? A wizard, you were talking to??”

  “Uh... we did hear him talking,” said another pict, cautiously approaching.

  “Talking?”

  “Uh, yep, he did say tear-nath too, as if he indeed was talking to someone,” the second pict whispered to the first.

  “Did you see anything?” the first asked the second.

  “How could I see anything, Gib? It was the brightest evil light we've ever seen! Blinding like the sun! It would burn our eyes out fool?!”

  The first hit the second. The second hit the first. They posed with fists, their pictosterone evident.

  “Okay, you picts don't like bright lights. I won't shine any bright lights. I swear!” Alfred carefully and slowly stood up, relieved that the pain had subsided. The first pict, Gib, raised his arm, readying the snipers above to fire.

  “Steady there boy-man... yee upperfolk are full of treachery and deceit, worshiping that killer sun of yours!”

  “What? Killer sun? What do you mean? We don't worship a killing sun?”

  “Yep you do. Yep you do,” the second pict said.

  “Shut up, Pep! I'm trying to interrogate the boy-man!”

  “Why do you say the killer sun?” Alfred asked.

  “That bright sun of yours will kill us on the spot! Burn us alive!” Pep quickly burst out. “Right, Gib?!”

  Gib smacked him. “Oh! Why don't you tell him all our deadly weaknesses?!”

  “Only Artofessor can do that!” Pep said.

  “Artofessor? Who is that?” Alfred asked.

  “He's the advisor to our king!” Gib yelled. “The wisest of us all! And exactly who I'm taking you to! Blindfold him!”

  No one moved.

  “Bind him! Tie his hands together!” Gib turned around, expecting something. Alfred raised his arms again, waiting. His arms were getting tired.

  “Blind-”

  A pict handed Gib a large cloth. At first he was taken aback. Then he realized they wanted him to do it. “Grrr...” Gib turned to Alfred and approached him, raising his pickaxe in warning. Of course, raising his pickaxe made it hard for Gib to blindfold his captive.

  “How about I tie it myself?” Alfred reached for the cloth. The picts leapt back in fear. Gib raised his hand to ready the snipers above. The sniper holding the device had fallen asleep, leaning on it. The sniper's spotter realized this and smacked him. He suddenly awoke and fired it!

  A steel javelin flashed by Alfred and hit the rock next to him. He froze in terror. The picts froze in shock. Gib turned and looked up. “I just raised my hand. I did NOT say to fire!”

  “Sorry... oop, sorry... won't happen again.” The picts above waved apologies as they carefully loaded another javelin and cranked the wheel tighter and tighter.

  Alfred turned to look at the steel arrow. It had tiny steel bristles for the fletched feathers and was stuck deep in the stone. He was amazed by it... “That is amazing!”

  “Would've shot right through you and done the same depth!” Gib said, walking up to Alfred nonchalantly. Then Gib leapt up and planted both feet, tucking away his pickaxe. With strenuous effort he pulled out the javelin. He dropped down and looked up at Alfred, who was standing right next to him. Gib suddenly got the heebie-jeebies and backed away. Then he shook it off.

  “Gib, that was amazing! What an incredible firing thingie!”

  “Spring steel! A double helix spring-powered firing mechanism!” Pep chimed in.

  “A perfection of gnome engineering!” said Gib.

  “Gnome?”

  “Yep.”

  “What gnome? Where?” Alfred asked, looking around.

  “Why us... gnomes!” Gib pounded his chest.

  “You are gnomes? I thought you were picts?”

  “Picts? Pfft... that's what you upperfolk, sun worshipers call us! We are Guh-Nomes!”

  “The 'g' is silent,” said Pep.

  “Whatever,” said Gib out of the side of his mouth.

  “Guh... uh... Gnomes... the lost people of the hill kingdom…” Alfred said under his breath.

  “Lost hill... whah?” Gib leaned in.

  “You wouldn't... wait... you say you could die by the sun's light?”

  “Could? Pfft! Will!” Pep said.

  Gib looked at Pep. “Why don't you tell him we know a way to the surface while you're at it?!”

  Pep pondered that for a second. “Mmm... sounds like you just did.”

  Gib rolled his eyes, then gulped.

  “Gib, Pep, I swear!” Alfred lowered himself to one knee. “We did not come here to harm you. We fled our homes, attacked by
goblins and ogres. We are hiding here, hoping to return back up there. We mean no harm coming here.”

  Gib and Pep looked encouraged. Other picts drew closer. To Alfred, they still looked vile and somewhat evil in their crusted stone makeup.

  “So you'll go back up to the vile light and leave us alone?” Gib asked.

  “Yes... but how do you know the sun will hurt you?”

  “The Artofessor knows everything! That's where we go! To decide your fate! Tie your hands!”

  Since no one dared come too close to him, Alfred complied and tied his hands quickly – if somewhat clumsily. He shrugged. They shrugged.

  “Oh boy... the Artofessor doesn't take kindly to upperfolk!” Pep finally exhaled.

  “It ain't for us to decide!” Gib said.

  “Onward!” Pep raised his fist.

  “Downward! Fool!” Gib feigned to strike, but Pep instinctively leapt away and stuck his quite pink tongue out. “To the Under Kingdom!”

  The gnomes moved with great agility over jutting rocks and dark crevices. Alfred was impressed. But with his hands tied, he began to trip and fall in slow painful ways. “Can I please have the use of my hands? I will die from a slip if I continue this way!”

  Gib, Pep and the other gnomes pondered this, huddling and whispering amongst themselves. Finally, they agreed as they looked at poor Alfred, lying painfully on some rocks.

  “Okay boy-man, but we will take all your gear! No escaping!”

  “Sure, fine. I don't want to escape. I want to speak to your king.”

  All the gnomes went silent. Then they huffed at Alfred, “Huuugghhhh!!!”

  “What? What did I say?” Alfred stood, easily untying his hands. The gnomes didn't even seem to notice.

  “No one can speak to our king and queen! No one!!” Pep said, eyes wide and weary.

  “What? Why? I'm a king. Anyone can talk to me.”

  “Hah, then you aren't a great king, now are you?” said Gib. “Only the Artofessor can talk to our king and queen! Only the chosen can know and speak the will of the royal line!”

  “Well, okay, I guess I'll talk to your Artofessor.” Alfred began unbuckling his gear. Gnomes came up to examine his food and skins and oil lamp. He handed over his sheath with the dagger. A gnome casually pulled it out.

  “Owww!!” The gnome suddenly rolled away. The dagger fell to the ground with a small drop of blood. The gnome had accidentally sliced his small hand. “Ow! Ow!”

  “Look! He has a blade to slice!” Gib said.

  “Another one of our weaknesses!” Pep pontificated.

  “What? It was an accident! I didn't even do it. He pulled it out!” Alfred pointed to the grimacing gnome. He looked up, first in fear, then growled in anger.

  Alfred realized he was in a pickle, possibly of being falsely accused of attacking. He quickly reached down and picked up the blade. The gnomes darted off into dark crevices. The team of snipers hurriedly and haphazardly tried to reset their spring loaded javelin projectile device.

  “Wait! Look everyone. I'm not going to harm you. Look!” Alfred put the dagger back in the sheath and quickly wrapped it tight with the binding cloth. He made a strong knot and placed it on a rock away from him. “Here it is. No one will get sliced again. It's wrapped tight and safe!”

  The gnomes slowly reappeared. Gib came out and in a huff, took the wrapped dagger and stared at the hurt gnome, who shrugged. “Let's get a move on!”

  They came to a vast vertical tunnel with narrow spiraling steps running up and down the cylindrical wall.

  The gnomes casually took the steps, arguing over whose spring loaded device or design or creation was better. Some said the double spring loaded jabber perfected stone drilling. Others commented on wider ones called “big mouths.” One favored thinner ones called “zippers.” Yet another preferred the varied width spring supported by smaller springs in conjunction with tension mounted bands, or “complicato,” while another touted a torque spring reversed twisted “upside-downer.” Some nodded. Others rubbed their chins. All opined opinions... as it were.

  Alfred froze at the opening to this massive highway, or downway, staring at the immensity of it. The gnomes, including Pep and Gib, had traversed quite a ways down before they realized they had left their prisoner.

  Pep nudged Gib. “What's wrong with him?”

  “Ooop!” Gib hobbled back up, acting like the one in charge.

  Alfred clung to the stone. “That leads to the Under Kingdom?”

  Gib eyed Alfred narrowly, “Yes. But it’s a secret!”

  Pep arrived right behind Gib. “Some secret!”

  Alfred shook it off and noticed the spiral steps leading up, “Where does that lead?”

  “Why, to the surface!” Pep smiled proudly.

  “You stupid clod! Now he knows everything! Maybe we should just kill him and you, right now!” Gib smacked his head, only to be smacked back but not as hard. The two eyed each other with angry unabashed stares.

  Alfred couldn't help but compare them to leprechauns. They were dark and stone faced, literally, but they carried on with the accent and demeanor of the lively characters of Irish legend – tricky, boisterous and silly.

  “I want to go, but it is so dizzying! I can't go down that!” cried Alfred, looking down again, heaving, feeling a strong sense of vertigo.

  “Oh boy... these uppity folk can really get on a fella's nerves, you know?! Alright gnomes... beast of burdening it, we are!”

  “Aaaahhhh!!”

  Alfred lay prone and bobbed along. Several gnomes under Gib's control led them along. They carried Alfred easily and skillfully down the stone steps. At first, he lay fearfully, almost frozen, but then realized how good they were and relaxed. At one point, he stretched out his arms and put them behind his head. The gnomes rolled their eyes.

  Then, suddenly, they tossed him off to the side. Alfred was stunned – screaming as he flailed in the air, only to be instantly enveloped in a cold wet environment. He continued flailing, floating up with thousands of bubbles, splashing mightily as he surfaced in a pool of dirty water. The gnomes had reached the bottom, laughing at his predicament.

  Chapter Forty-Three: The City of the Gnomes

  “Cooled off, are we?” asked Gib, easily shuffling down the remaining stone steps.

  The gnomes gathered at the pond which was at the bottom of their vast tunnel highway to the surface. They began a ritual that distracted Alfred from his water shock. He paddled to the shore and watched as they reapplied mud onto their skin. He could see patches of their pale skin where the mud had worn off. They all covered themselves in this stone skinned way as if preparing to present themselves as ready for battle or something. Alfred was curious to ask but instead merely sat, dripping wet and slightly cold, watching them.

  After their reapplication of mud, they motioned for him to follow them. He noticed that the tunnels here were all pentagon-shaped and carved right out of the stone. He could barely fit through, with his head at the tip of five-sided openings. There were openings to rooms with sparse stone furniture, and stone skinned families and groups of gnomes, who sat about tinkering or cooking. He noticed that many seemed sick or weak, lying on stone beds. Though the carved halls and stone furniture were very well made, there was a covering of dirt and mud on everything, making the living space seem filthy. He realized it was from the gnomes, as they must always be wearing the mud coating on their skin.

  “Gib, what is wrong with your people? Why are they sick?” Alfred asked, trying to keep up.

  “Many have weaknesses. Only the strong survive.”

  “Only the strong? That's not fair.”

  Gib stopped, causing everyone to bump into each other. “Fair? Fair??? It is you uppity folks who are not fair!! Long ago, you gave us this curse! You forced us deep into the earth! We had to fight goblins and ratkins and foul creatures of the dark to survive! And we did! We survived even with your curse upon us!”

  “A curse?” Alfred whispered to him
self. He looked at the other gnomes. They seemed angry yet tired. An air of suffering and staleness tempered any impulse to be angry. Alfred looked past Gib to a room where many stone beds were scattered about and many gnomes, young and old, were lying. They seemed to be weak, tired, or sick? Alfred didn't get to look long as the traveling group pushed onward.

  Down the corridor, the passageway descended and widened. The open spaces became somewhat busier with tinkerers and more metal objects and metal structures. The gnomes were not lacking in steel and iron and bronze creations. Alfred noticed lots of glass as well – tubes and vases and containers all cooking concoctions. It seemed the two things they had plenty of were mushrooms and fungi. They grew these in piles everywhere. He noticed they picked at them and used them in metal cups of drink and for food. Gnomes looking like witch doctors grew fantastical fungi in their laboratories, creating mystical concoctions.

  “Who are they?” Alfred gasped in amazement at the spider web-like laboratory utensils arrayed in these alcoves.

  “They are the alchemists and apothecaries, ever cooking and concocting the medicines and potions needed for the sick and weak among us.”

  “Whoa, they are giving those to the sick?”

  “To us all, of course, to keep us safe and ready!”

  Alfred gulped upon seeing the jars of dark colored chemicals, bubbling and oozing. To think that the gnomes were living in this stifled stuffy space, covering themselves in mud and filth, and hiding from the world. Their fear of sun exposure and being burned made sense, but then again it didn't. He recalled their pasty white skin the first time Loranna and he saw one swim across the river. These weren't vampires or evil forces. He wondered… does the sun really burn them? Kill them? Well, if their skin were that pasty and white, the sun would surely burn them. But kill them? Something was amiss here.