by Peter Plasse
He didn’t wait for the answer that never came, but turned and ran back towards the front of the house where the sounds of the fight continued.
Gracie rushed to Ryan’s side. He was dazed, but conscious. “I’m all right,” he mumbled, attempting to sit up without success. “Go help them.” He waved her away and slumped forward.
She nocked an arrow and called, “Stay awake. I’ll be right back,” as she turned and ran towards the front of the house.
The fighting had stopped when she got there. There were dead Gnomes everywhere. Apparently there had been more than Ryan and Gracie had thought. “Is everybody okay?” she shouted.
The father nodded, “Yes.”
“Amazingly enough, none of us got hurt,” he said, “Thanks to you and your friend.” He looked around. “Where is he? Is he all right?”
“No,” she said. “Follow me!” Then, “are they all … ?”
“Yes, they’re all dead. There were nine in the group, and they’re all accounted for.”
They all sprinted to the backyard. Ryan was as she had left him. “Ryan,” she shouted directly into his ear. “Wake up. Wake up!”
He groaned, but made no intelligible speech.
“Come on,” she barked, “We need to get him inside. Move it now!”
The father and son formed a human-sling with their arms, carried him inside, and placed him gently on the kitchen table.
“Get me some clean water and a clean cloth,” she ordered the wife, who hurried to comply.
She carefully washed the laceration, which could be seen to have penetrated his scalp all the way to the skull. Fortunately, the bleeding had slowed down dramatically, so she made the best of Ryan’s obtunded state to thoroughly clean it and flush it with copious amounts of the water. He groaned a lot while she did her work, which she took as a good sign. At least he was conscious enough to feel pain. Once she had cleaned it to her satisfaction, she inserted her finger directly into the wound and probed around. Grunting, she shook her head as she pulled out a large piece of rock that she threw onto the floor. She continued to probe. Finding nothing else, she asked the wife for another piece of clean cloth. This time her tone was more civil, and the wife managed a weak smile as she went to get it.
“Are you a healer?” asked the boy, who had watched, mostly with an open mouth, the entire procedure.
“Hardly,” she said.
The wife handed her the cloth, which she used to bind his head. Not liking the result, she did it again.
“We need to get him into a bed,” she said. “Point the way.”
“In here,” said the husband, and he and his son moved Ryan into the marital bed in the back bedroom.
Gracie stayed at his side for perhaps an hour, during which time she talked softly to him while she held his hand, which she kissed repeatedly. There was nothing else she could think to do. “You’re going to be all right, RyeRye,” she said, “You’re going to be all right.”
At first, he moaned a lot while she spoke to him, but eventually fell into a deep sleep.
Gracie returned to the kitchen and sat down heavily in one of the chairs.
“My name is Grace,” she said.
“Mine is Matthew,” said the man, “Matthew Kaylor. And this is my wife, Sarah. This is my son, Alexander, and my daughter, Shannon.” Alexander nodded politely and Shannon offered a tiny wave from her kitchen bed, where she was sucking her thumb with a vengeance.
“I need food,” she said. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I need food and drink or I will drop here and maybe never get up.”
“Of course you do, my dear,” said Sarah. “Alexander, go to the root cellar and bring in some fruit and some cheese. Shannon, you help him. You bring a roast, the finest one we have, and a jug of cider. Off with you now.”
The children jumped to comply, only too happy to offer their best efforts for the girl who had helped save them all from certain death.
Once she had wolfed down a few apples and a slab of cheese, along with the tart cider, Gracie felt well enough to engage in real conversation.
“Why were those Gnomes going to kill you?” she asked.
“Because we refused to tell them where our root cellar is. They were making their annual migration back to Vultura. They were afraid they would freeze to death before they got there. They chose to rob us rather than stop and hunt or gather. This happened to us before, and we gave up our food to them. It cost us two children … ” She stifled a sob.
“Well then, I’m glad they’re dead.”
“Me too,” echoed Alexander. “I’m glad that they’re dead.”
“Now, Alexander,” said Sarah. “The Old One is a merciful God. His teaching is that we always try first to love our enemy.”
“Well they were going to kill us!” screeched Alexander. “And last year they took all our food and … and little M.J., and Carol Lee died … and … ”
Sarah held up her hand, and Alexander stopped talking, heading slowly towards the door.
In a few minutes the children returned with the rest of the foodstuff that Sarah had ordered up, slamming the door behind them. A short while after that, Sarah had prepared Gracie a veritable feast and she tore in, starting with several swallows of the cider. She soon felt much better and Sarah cautioned, “Make sure you eat it slowly, else you will take ill. Pains and all.” She pointed to her belly, caressing it in small circles.
Gracie headed her caution and started chewing more slowly. “Now what? Thank you for the food.” Then, “We need to get fluids into Ryan. Right now!”
She jumped up, poured another mug of cider, and sprinted to the back room.
“Ryan!” she screamed, “You have to wake up. You’re starving, and dehydrated. Maybe badly dehydrated. You need fluids. You need fluids!!!”
Like all kids, Gracie had done her share of screaming at her brother and sister, but this was by far the loudest scream of her life, and there was a degree of desperation in her voice that was chilling.
Ryan made small murmuring sounds. It seemed as though on some plane he could hear her, understand her even, and he made small, slurping sounds as she forced him to take the cider.
“Drink RyeRye,” she said as she held the mug up, carefully cradling his head in the crook of her arm to avoid putting any pressure on his wounds. He definitely choked somewhat, and sputtered and coughed and all, but he held down a lot of the fresh apple cider, and managed to give her a smile and a thumbs-up sign, then drifted off again, all the while smiling.
“Here it is,” she said, folding the coarse face towel she had used to wipe the cider from his face and neck. “Take it or leave it. I’m not from here. Like, really not from here … I mean … from this planet, this world, this globe, this world, I said that. And how about this? Our world is way ahead of this one, like thousands of years. About a thousand, I guess, probably more, and … anyway … what I need to do is round up all of the people from my world, that somehow ended up in this crazy place, and then we can all go home together.
“Okay, so, like, I know you all think I’m crazy right now, but I can prove it.”
She retrieved her pack and pulled out the maps.
“All right,” she said, unrolling the sheaf of papers on the small table. She selected the one she wanted from the bundle, replacing the others carefully.
“Here we are,” she said, pointing to their exact location. “Have you seen these? We call this a map. This is Vultura. This is, of course, Ravenwild, see, we are here in Ravenwild. This would be Slova to the east, and this would be Vultura to the west. To the north we have the Northland, it looks like it says, and to the south, the Agden Woods. Does this map make sense to you? Do you understand how to read it?”
Matthew quickly nodded, “No,” but continued to study it intensely. Suddenly, his eyes lit up and he said, “See Alexander, see Shannon, here is the river where we catch the fish, and here is the bend in the river where we make camp. Right?”
“Good,” said Graci
e. “Well, here’s how it is. See these dots? These are Mr. and Mrs. Strong, and it looks they’re about a hundred miles from the Northland, and two hundred miles east of the Slovan Plains. They haven’t moved for a while. I’m wondering if they have been caught. They are my friend, Stephanie’s, mother and father. Now, Stephanie is my best friend where I come from. And she’s who started this whole thing by getting talked into coming to this place with some sort of transporter device. It’s a thing, with buttons, that you push, which makes you disappear from one place and appear in another.” She saw she was making absolutely no sense to her medieval audience, so she said, “Never mind. Forget that. Anyway, Stephanie, my friend, came here from there first. And then her mother and father came, and then Orie, Stephanie’s older brother, and Ryan,” she pointed towards the bedroom, “and I came here next. Then Jacqueline, Orie and Stephanie’s little sister, she’s your age Shannon, transported here too. Or at least that’s what we think. Since we have been here, a new dot has appeared. So we are definitely closest to Mr. and Mrs. Strong. That looks about … three hundred miles north and one hundred and fifty miles west. With the horses we can make that in a week, five, six days, maybe. Now, Stephanie is way up here, and over here, by the northeastern border of Ravenwild and Slova. Now this, is Orie.” She looked. His dot, and that of Forrester, were both gone. Had they been missing when she had first opened it? Oh no. This was, maybe, bad.
But then, they had seen Forrester’s materialize out of nowhere, so the fact that their dots were missing might not mean anything. But it might mean everything.
She decided suddenly to check on Ryan. It was up to him to help her get through this. He couldn’t die on her now. She was greatly relieved that his breathing was not labored, as before, and now seemed normal, slow and regular with an occasional deep sigh. His smile had never faded since she had forced him to drink the cider. She whispered forcefully, “Don’t you die on me Ryan Brahm, don’t you even think about it.”
She noticed the Kaylor family all at the door, so she waved them in. “He looks fine,” said Sarah. “Out with all of you now. I am going to bathe him and clean him, head to toe. Alexander, I will expect you to have his clothes scrubbed clean, boots and all, and back to me in twenty minutes. Gracie, you will sleep. Now. Then it will be a good scrubbing for you as well. Matthew, you go dispose of those Gnome fellows. Please be respectful of the dead. Shannon, the goats need tending. You know what to do.”
Part Two
Chapter 17
It was all happening way too fast. The birth of a child was always like that even under normal circumstances. But when you were running a country, and had just survived perhaps the bloodiest coup attempt in the history of your nation, not to mention that the Trolls had completely overrun the land, and you were negotiating the terms of your country’s surrender … well, those things did tend to interfere with all of the arrangements that had to be made within the family, to get everybody taken care of, so that mother could push this baby out.
“A son,” he begged of the Old One. “Let it be a son.” He felt guilty as soon as he had the thought because, in truth, all he wanted was a healthy child, but as the leader of the Gnome nation, he knew that a son was what the realm needed. He had already fathered four daughters, all healthy, all happy enough, but he wasn’t getting any younger, and the nation-state needed an heir to the throne. Failure to give them one would mean that the Trolls would take over the political machine of Vultura in its entirety, and all hope of maintaining even a shred of sovereignty would be lost forever. No, a son it must be.
The entrance of Norma Webb, his wife’s midwife, interrupted his mental meanderings. “Your Excellency.” She bowed low at the waist and kissed the Emperor’s ring. “It is time, My Lord. We have summoned the doctor. The child has not turned. She will want you there in case … ” Her voice trailed off, the unfinished thought too painful to put to words.
He knew what she meant. In case the doctor had to sacrifice the mother to save the child. The Gnome pelvis would never permit the normal delivery of a breech birth, and in the event that the doctor was not successful in getting the baby turned before the onset of hard labor, the only way to save the child would be to end the life of the mother and quickly remove the child. Or sacrifice the child to save the Queen.
“Do we have plenty of Sikka root?” he whispered.
“Already taken care of, My Lord,” she said. “More than enough. But let’s think positive. This doctor is the best in the land at the maneuvers necessary to turn the child. Come now, let us go.”
He rubbed his head furiously, seemingly to try and rub away the anxiety that ate at him like a ravenous dog.
“Now, My Lord,” she declared matter-of-factly.
On the way to the delivery suite he prayed fervently that the doctor might prevail in his efforts. Such was the passion in his silent pleadings that for one brief moment he swore he could touch the face of the Old One.
They entered the birthing room. The doctor was already there. By the looks on the faces of the several assistants, it was not going well. His wife, Mexyl Wyn
Night, was clearly in agony. Her face was wet with sweat, and she stifled a scream as the doctor rolled her roughly on her side and tried his best to turn the baby upside right by forcefully wrenching on her abdomen.
“She’s bleeding!” cried one of the attendants.
Hanz Oratorius Night stepped to his wife’s side and took her by the hand. “My darling,” he moaned. “I am here.” It was all he could manage as the realization of what must now happen set in.
She looked up at him and giant tears slid down her cheeks. “It is all right, My Lord.” she said, “We have had a fine life together. Many good years … ”
Now she screamed in earnest as the doctor tried one last vicious yank to try and right the position of the baby.
“She’s showing,” declared Norma, spreading Mexyl’s legs gently to afford the look she needed. “It’s a boy!” came the shout.
The doctor looked his Emperor in the eye. Hanz simply nodded to him. He nodded in turn to Norma.
“Drink this, my Lady,” she said to Mexyl. “It will take away all the pain.”
Mexyl pushed the cup back and took both of her husband’s hands in hers, looking him straight in the eye. “There is so much I would say … ”
He squeezed her hands hard. “I know,” he sobbed quietly. “I know.”
“I love you, my darling. I will be there waiting when you pass.”
She took the cup and drank deeply. She looked the doctor hard in the eye and gave her last command as the Emperor’s wife. “Now give His Excellency a healthy son!” The Sikka root acted almost instantaneously, and the doctor said gently, “Your Excellency, please leave us. You don’t want to watch this.”
The Emperor did as he was told, collapsing on a bench outside the delivery suite. In a few moments he heard the sound of a healthy newborn Gnome screaming his way into the world. How he wished his wife could have heard that joyous sound … He buried his face in his hands as grief overwhelmed him.
“It is time, My Lord,” said Monslov, one of the Emperor’s personal aides. “Let us get this done and over with.”
Hanz Night arose from his desk with the heaviest heart. That was the second time he had heard those words today. Having lost his wife that same morning, he now had to face the onerous chore of officially surrendering Vultura to Leopold Malance Venomisis, leader of the Troll nation. Malance had not even done them the honor of physically attending this loathsome task. Instead, he had sent a low-level Minister of Affairs, a snake of a Troll named Loquitar Coral. Small by Troll standards, he took advantage of every possible situation to demonstrate his superior station by inflicting suffering on his subordinates. He wielded the tools of pain with the skill of an artisan and his brushes, and now that those of lesser station included every Gnome in the realm, Hanz Night fully expected that more than one
Gnome would die a horrible death before this day was done
.
“It is indeed time, Your Majesty,” said Saviar Murlis, his second in command. “Loquitar Coral awaits. We would do well to not keep him waiting. He is not a patient Troll.
“He has sent word of his sorrow at your wife’s passing by a communiqué that was delivered by a low-level aide-de-camp not an hour ago. Even that is a slap in our collective face.”
“He declined to send the usual gifts. I am terribly sorry, Your Highness. I cannot begin to imagine your grief.” He put his hands to his face to help him deal with his own sorrow.
Everybody in the land had worshiped this woman. She had been exceedingly bright. Most said it was she that had sniffed out every single assassination attempt on her husband over the many years of his reign. And as bright as she was, she was equally kind, regularly pitching right in to help with the bread kitchens for the needy. Nobody in the land had ever gone to bed hungry, thanks to her efforts. Her very first rule: Everybody gets fed. But there had been so much more.
Building was proceeding beautifully everywhere with the infrastructure that had blossomed under her leadership. Roads, roads, and more roads was her thought. The easier her Gnomes could move about the land, the better for all. Goods moved quickly. Vegetables did not rot in the cart any more. Houses were going up all around the major cities. Land was being developed.
Everyone was working hard, and everyone had more time to enjoy the fruits of their labors. Large crowds cheered the young Gnomes on as they competed in their athletic events. These had been the greatest of times in their nation’s history.
Now, the Trolls would decide what their labors would be. Nothing would be the same. They were entering the dark time.
They arrived at the waiting-room door of Loquitar Coral.
Saviar Murlis knocked.
“Identify yourselves,” came the cry from inside.
“It is the Emperor, Hanz Oratorius Night, and his Chief Advisor.”