by Logan Jacobs
The gnome chortled and rubbed his chubby little hands together. He loved showing off his unique barfing abilities. He carefully tucked his luxurious, curling lavender beard out of the way, and then stooped over and retched a torrent of bright blue slime all over the pile of meat. It bubbled slightly and let off steam. Cries of shock and gasps rose all around the circle from the throats of the drummers, but they’d seen nothing yet. By the time the acid in Willobee’s gnomish bile had worked its usual wonders, the meat, bone, and gristle would dissolve down into nothing. I figured it sure didn’t hurt for the drummers to be aware of my little friend’s useful abilities and realize what a bad idea it was to make even the seemingly harmless smallest member of our party angry.
“We’ll have to stick around a little and monitor them,” one of my selves who was surrounded by my friends, not standing in the center of the circle over the melting meat, said quietly. “Make sure they don’t just ‘forget’ this incident, whether conveniently or genuinely, tomorrow and try to pull that same trick on the wolves.”
I had expected a bit of grumbling, since even though I had already told my friends as much earlier, I knew none of them were exactly enjoying the company of the drummers. Except maybe Willobee, who seemed to find them amusing. Lizzy, of course, was bearing a wolfish grudge against them, Ilandere was horrified by their arbitrary violent impulses, Florenia simply found them repulsive, and Elodette thought they were too dumb and pathetic to be worth helping. But I actually didn’t receive any pushback for that presumably unpopular decision. My friends seemed to have been a tiny bit intimidated themselves by my display of rage for the drummers’ benefit.
The destriers and the courser Generosity, Virility, Fury, Slayer, and Chivalry didn’t seem to have much of an opinion on the matter, except for maybe Fury, who had caved in the skull of a drummer who came up from behind and patted him on the hindquarters a few hours earlier. At the time I had been concerned that the drummers might get a little upset about their third casualty in one day, but they actually didn’t seem fussed at all. They just dutifully danced a funeral dance around the body, then dragged it off and dumped it in the woods presumably for the wild beasts to take care of later, like they’d done with the two who had perished in the altercation over the errant drumstick right before my companions and I showed up. That led me to suspect that maybe inglorious deaths were a pretty frequent occurrence within this population. Anyway, this one might have been slightly more productive than most, because afterward, the other drummers steered clear of our tethered mounts, which proved that they actually did have some minimal learning abilities. And once they were left in peace, the horses couldn’t have cared less about where exactly our hosts fell on the evolutionary spectrum.
We had already eaten an evening meal of more root vegetables and mystery mash along with a bit of non-poisoned lamb before Lizzy and I left on our little poison intervention mission, so after our educational performance culminating in Willobee’s nifty vomit trick, it seemed like a good time for us to head to bed and leave the drummers in peace to contemplate the events of the day.
I was about to suggest that when Willobee came up and tugged on my sleeve. He remarked, “Master, I believe I am beginning to discern a slight difference between their vocalizations, and I’m starting to observe a few correlations between certain variations on the baseline grunt and their probable meanings.”
“You mean you understand their language?” Ilandere exclaimed at the same moment as Florenia exclaimed,
“You mean you think they have a language?”
“Both of those might be overstating the case,” Willobee replied. “But they’re able to get a few rudimentary concepts across to each other, and I’m able to recognize a few of those myself. I think. Who knows? Maybe they really are just random sounds, and I’m so stultified by the monotony that I’ve started to imaginatively assign contextually relevant meanings to them.”
There was a long moment of silence as we contemplated the relative probability of these two possibilities.
“Should I attempt to make some diplomatic overtures, Master?” Willobee offered.
I considered his offer and the potential consequences. The gnome was a creative, bewildering, and charismatic force to be reckoned with in conversation, but he was far from infallible. Sometimes he miscalculated, or overestimated his own charm. And even Willobee himself had admitted that the drummers’ grunts might not have specific meanings at all. They might just be random noises.
“Well,” I said. “We, uh, don’t have much to lose at this point, considering the current state of human-drummer relations. So, Willobee, I think you may as well give it a shot. I don’t think I should walk up to them with you, since they’re kind of intimidated by me and Lizzy right now and that might make them less receptive to whatever you have to say, but I’ll be right here if things go south.”
“So will I,” Elodette said grimly as she patted her bow.
The stout little gnome gulped and blinked his jade green lantern eyes once. Then he waddled across the camp toward the spot where most of the drummers had congregated about thirty feet away.
Throughout the previous day, the drummers had deferred to Willobee just as they had deferred to the rest of us, despite his diminutive stature, and they had continually tried to express their admiration for his curly lavender beard by stroking it, which I suspected that he secretly somewhat enjoyed. But now, as he approached, some of them grunted respectfully, but a lot of them shifted on their feet nervously and in a not altogether friendly manner. I wasn’t sure if this was because he had lost favor with them by association with me and my wolf-defending ways, or because they had observed how the poisoned meat had dissolved after being coated in his blue bile and didn’t fancy anything similar happening to their own flesh, or both.
But regardless of the cause, that all changed when Willobee opened his mouth and started speaking. Because he wasn’t using words, at least not in the way I understood them. Nor was he grunting in precisely the same manner as the drummers. Although the primitive noises he was making sounded extremely similar to theirs, they were deeper, richer, and more resonant… more rhythmic, and more authoritative. I had some awareness of Willobee’s vocal range from having enjoyed his incredible gnomish ballads, in which he assumed the diverse voices of all kinds of people, animals, other miscellaneous sound effects like thunder and lightning, stomachs rumbling with hunger, and crabs scuttling across stone beaches, and even gave voice to silent processes like plants growing and hearts breaking in eerily convincing ways that almost made me feel I had heard them before.
But this was a whole new level of linguistic and vocal genius. Willobee had apparently, by listening to the native speakers for less than a day, managed to decipher a language so crude and unintelligible that none of the rest of us had even really considered it a language, and was now fluent enough to make speeches in an enhanced version of it. The ape-like grunting flowing from the gnome’s mouth posed a comical contrast with the foppish velvet suit of clothes and feathered cap he always wore. Of course, I didn’t know what he was saying exactly. But it was clear from their body language that all the drummers were hanging on his every grunt. And although they didn’t seem thrilled, exactly, they did seem receptive and comprehending.
Then, as the gnome continued his performance, some remark of his actually evoked hoots of merriment from them. Other remarks were met with affirmative-sounding grunts. The drummers’ enthusiasm gradually increased, until some of them started dropping to their knees in postures of submission and thankfulness, or maybe just to get down to eye level with their new favorite god, and once again attempting to stroke Willobee’s silken beard.
After a while, Willobee turned and looked across the camp to where Lizzy, Florenia, Ilandere, Elodette, and I all waited while trying our best to look casual and called out, “It’s all right, Master! Why don’t you all join us?”
My three selves strode over and escorted the women with me.
&nbs
p; I looked at the gnome questioningly as I wondered what exactly he had told the drummers to turn them so friendly.
Willobee did not address us directly. Instead, he gestured at the seven of us as he grunted rapidly at the drummers, who fidgeted uncomfortably in our presence. They grunted back. I couldn’t tell what they were saying, of course, but it seemed like kind of a call-and-response format, where they were signaling their understanding and agreement to something that Willobee was telling them.
Not all the drummers seemed to accept his speech so readily though. Some of the largest and most aggressive-looking ones, conspicuously clothed in the most luxurious wolf pelts, were grunting in a distinctly hostile tone, and a few even shoved their fellow drummers. Based on what we had seen of their reaction earlier to something as trivial as getting accidentally hit in the face with a drumstick, I was concerned that the disagreement might quickly escalate into a bloodbath, but with Willobee there to talk them down, the clearly discontented drummers eventually simmered down and just sulked while the conversation continued.
After a while, they all started bowing and kneeling to our group again the way they had done earlier when we first showed up. They didn’t share many other gestures in common with us, but lowering oneself closer to the ground seemed to be a pretty much universal signal of submission, for more species than just humans. Ilandere allowed them to caress her tail and her long silvery human tresses, and even Elodette kind of put up with their attentions, she just twitched her muscles under their hands the way horses do when they’re attempting to dislodge flies from their pelts.
After a few minutes of this renewed worship, Willobee grunted what I guessed must be some kind of goodnight, and waddled off. The rest of us hastily disentangled ourselves and followed.
We picked out an unoccupied building that seemed soundly constructed enough not to fall down on our heads and crush us while we slept, made it clear to the drummers through gesturing that we were claiming it as ours for the duration of our stay, and piled in and shut the door.
After that, I asked Willobee, “So, what was that?”
“That,” Willobee replied, “was Willobee of Clan Benniwumporgan, saving the day.”
I just hoped the boast was warranted. For all I knew, he had pledged all of us in ten years of servitude to the tribe. For all I knew, he had betrothed us all to drummer spouses, a fate to which I suspected that we would all consider death to be preferable. “Um. Okay. Great. But how, exactly, did you do that? I mean, what did you tell them?”
“I told them that the Wolf Goddess had been angered by their traditions of killing wolves and of killing sheep while disguised as wolves,” the gnome answered. “I told them that that was why we had all paid them a visit, and that we are all gods of other various things who are friends of the Wolf Goddess and came to serve as a backup. I told them that as long as they stop doing those two things, they won’t encounter any trouble from us. That the Wolf Goddess will forgive them for past transgressions.”
“Hmmm,” Lizzy said. “I kind of like the idea of being a goddess.”
“Qaar’endoth is the only true god among us,” Florenia said. “However, to these poor creatures, I suppose we are somewhat akin to gods and goddesses. We are immeasurably cleverer. We are vastly more lethal. And, of course, we are infinitely better-looking.”
“What did you tell them I was the goddess of, then, Willobee?” Ilandere inquired.
“The moon,” Willobee replied. “You have exactly the right glowing, silver, ethereal look for that. And I told them that you are the goddess of the hunt, Elodette.”
I thought Elodette would make some kind of sarcastic remark. But she just nodded and said nothing, which I took to mean that she was actually kind of flattered by his description of her.
“They had already dubbed Vander ‘The Triple God,’” Willobee continued. “Not really the most inventive name, and they’re kind of missing the point that you’re really more The Infinite God or The Multiplying God, who just so happens to be at a head count of three at this particular stage of personal development. But, to give them credit where credit is due, I have to say that they did better than most humans in regard to the fact that they did recognize you as one being in three bodies, as opposed to being triplets. Then again… I haven’t really had enough opportunity to delve into the nuances of their speech, yet. So it’s possible that they also just consider ordinary twins and triplets to be basically the same person if they look enough alike.”
“And me?” Florenia asked curiously.
“Er.” The gnome turned bright red. “I, er, kind of just told them the first thing that popped into my head. It’s not important.”
“But my dear Willobee,” she replied, “it has suddenly become a matter of extreme importance to me. If you refuse to tell me, I will have to assume the worst. I will have to assume that you associate me with something so insulting that our friendship, which I cherish, could not possibly survive the brutal revelation. Is that the case?”
Emotional blackmail was, apparently, another skill that aristocrats learned from a young age. Florenia’s use of it proved effective on Willobee.
“All right, all right,” the gnome groaned. “I told them you were the goddess of sex. It was the first thing that popped into my head because of the way you two… ” he gestured vaguely at the duke’s daughter and at the three of me. “Er, four… are always, well, you know…. It just seemed reasonable to infer that it might be something of a… specialty. But I didn’t mean it in a vulgar way.”
“Why, Willobee, that is so sweet of you,” Florenia cooed.
I was greatly amused. Really, it wasn’t an inaccurate choice of divine domain for her, if Florenia had truly been a goddess, as her physical appearance so strongly suggested.
“And what did you tell them you were the god of, Willobee?” I asked him.
“I told them that I was the god of peace, merriment, and honey mead,” the gnome replied.
“Just like you to give each of us one thing and yourself three things,” Lizzy grumbled.
“It was a diplomatic necessity!” Willobee protested. “I had to say peace, to calm them down and make them trust me more, after you and Vander did a number on that hunting party like that. And I had to say merriment, to make them like me and think that I had something good to offer. And I had to say honey mead because honey mead is inextricably linked to merriment. It would’ve been suspicious if I didn’t.”
“You can have merriment without honey mead,” Florenia replied with a wink in my direction. “Lots of it.”
“So, the drummers were willing to cooperate with what you said?” I asked Willobee to confirm. “I noticed a few of them didn’t seem too happy.”
The gnome shrugged. “Can’t please everyone, can you? Some of the top status ones, who maintain their status mainly through killing wolves, weren’t too keen on the idea of giving up their glory days. But I told them that from now on, the gods would grant eternal glory to whichever drummers gathered the most acorns. To give them something to do with all that free time on their hands, you know?”
“Sounds reasonable,” I said.
After that, we decided to try to get a few hours’ sleep before dawn. I had a feeling that more than one of my companions might dream of being gods that night. I was the only one of our party who might potentially be a god, Qaar’endoth the Unvanquished, but even if that were truly the case, it was their company that made divinity so much fun.
Lizzy’s ability to fall asleep didn’t seem to be inhibited at all by the rage that I knew was still boiling in her gut. She was always willing to skip sleep for sex, but since all eight of us were sharing one chamber that night, and that wasn’t a very practical option, she just curled up and passed out.
Willobee had never had any kind of problem falling asleep either, whether he was drunk off his ass, which seemed to be his preferred state, or dead sober. The drummers’ disgusting fermented drink, which we’d all had to start forcing down our thr
oats since there didn’t seem to be any fresh water readily available, might have had a tiny bit of a buzz to it, and Willobee was the only who had consumed enough to feel any such effects, so he might have been mildly tipsy. Anyway, he cuddled up with Lizzy, which was a habit of theirs, usually for warmth since they both appreciated Lizzy’s thick, shaggy wolf pelt when we were camping out under the sky. I loved seeing how the ferocious ex-bandit and the conniving little gnome had gone from wanting each other dead to becoming the best of friends. Among my abilities, it was my opinion that bringing together disparate personalities into a sum that equaled more than the parts was a particularly underrated one.
The two centaurs folded themselves up as compactly as they reasonably could and laid their heads down using their arms for pillows. Florenia slumbered in the arms of one of my unconscious selves.
For about half an hour, I was alone with my thoughts. I leaned against the wall in an unoccupied spot near Ilandere and just reflected on how far I’d come since I set out from the temple of Qaar’endoth after the midnight massacre of my order, and on how far I still had to go in order to become the kind of god capable of putting down Thorvinius for good. As terrible as the events had been that set it in motion in the first place, I definitely couldn’t say that the journey itself had been unenjoyable so far.
Then a small voice like tinkling bells interrupted my thoughts. “Vander, are you awake?” Ilandere whispered. She had raised her silvery head from her pale arms to peer at me with those big doe eyes of hers.