Sorrowfish

by Anne C Miles

  The bear bent, her eyes searching his face. She snuffed loudly, smelling him. Jax stood motionless under the weight of her gaze, meeting it. Her hot breath smelled of honey, and he could see her sharp teeth, but he did not flinch. Finally, she sat up and gestured for him to sit.

  “I will hear you,” she said.

  “Mighty queen, a clan of tall furless two-legs with metal teeth and evil songs are coming to my Burrow. They might overcome even your greatness, so I do not ask you to attack them directly. But you might frighten their horses or startle them, lead them astray, put obstacles in their path, and give my people time to run.”

  The bear rumbled when Jax mentioned the tall two-legs. She had no love for them. She regarded him for so long that Jax began to worry she might indeed be considering him as a meal. She answered with a groan. “It shall be done, son of stone. I will require that in the future, you not sing at my door.”

  Jax nodded in agreement. “Thank you, great one.” He stood, bowed again, and returned to his pony.

  It was time to rescue Bell.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  PEZZIK, THURIAL, AND other leaders inspected the ranks. Rows of gnomic warriors stood ready to defend the Burrow dwellers. Soldiers would scout in advance and defend the rear of the Moot as they travelled to their new home. Several families had already been dispatched to prepare.

  Pezzik peered into the face of the gnomefather before her. His banded steel battle-cap stood proudly at attention. At a little over three feet, he was taller than most in the line. His armor, a combination of cleverly worked small steel plates and chainmail, shone. Sword and bow looked to be in good condition, the quiver well supplied. She nodded and inspected the rest of the line. Finished, she took her place atop a dais.

  She pitched her voice to be heard, even as Gully, their tiny captain, rang the bell for attention.

  The Moot quieted.

  “Thank you for your attention. I will be brief. The squirrels have sent word. Our enemies are on their way. Conclave cantors and their acolytes can be disrupted, their allies confused. A confrontation need not end in battle. Listen well for orders. If you are unarmed, be prepared to go beneath the earth for protection until the stomping signals you to surface again. Good luck, and I will see you again in our new home!”

  Gully spoke to his rank-leaders. Though very respected, he was one of the smallest gnomes. The leaders listened and began whistling. The ranks obeyed the whistles, dividing into six groups. Two trooped out, while others prepared to wait for their enemy.

  The escape plan was sound. The hard part had been convincing Thurial and the others to agree on a destination. Burrows were plentiful throughout their forest. Gnome numbers had diminished, so many now lay unused.

  Pezzik clambered down from the dais and approached Thurial. His cap quivered. “You won’t go with us?”

  Pezzik shook her head. “I must find Jax. He should have been here yesterday. The squirrels saw him. He went to find Bell. A skunk carried word. He has asked the great bear to aid us. Something is not right. Bell has likely been taken. My place is at his side.”

  Thurial nodded and handed Pezzik a package.

  She tilted her head, her cap curling as she turned it over.

  “A number of Essences. You will need them,” he said. Thurial took both her hands, squeezing them. “Be well, my sister, until we meet again.”

  Pezzik pulled him into a hug. “I am always careful.”

  She broke the embrace, waved farewell, and hurried to her pack. She needed to reach the village quickly. The fastest route overland was blocked, with the forest readying for battle. She would travel below, out of sight.

  Pezzik shouldered her pack and pointed herself toward Dohnavur. She stepped into the stone wall and began her trek, careful to stay just under the root-line of the trees.

  Pezzik strode through the earth at a steady pace. Occasionally she came upon a rabbit hole or fox den. She always apologized and passed through. When the tree roots thinned, she was close to the village.

  She surfaced on the eastern side of Dohnavur. The stars twinkled. The moon’s soft light fell on thatched roofs.

  Pezzik lingered under the trees, watching the village for signs of trouble. Houses lay dark. Few chimneys belched smoke. Villagers should still be gathered at the inn’s common room, playing stones, telling stories, and drinking their mugs. Some might be walking home.

  It was too quiet. The streets were empty.

  She set off for the Bell and Rider to see what was what. Her footsteps pattered in the quiet. Hair prickled on the back of her neck, but she saw no faces watching at windows. She quickened her pace.

  She rounded the corner and made for the inn stables. Empty, Jax’s pony and Bell’s mare were both missing. The stable boy, Kellen, was absent. No other horses waited in the stalls.

  The village had been purified before, but never had the outcome been so devastating. Deema had always protected their charges, hiding them away until the danger passed. The acolytes did a sweep with their incense and Camber the next week took an extra hour or two of Canting and confession. Those who needed to did penance. Life in town went on.

  This time was different. They all had been caught unaware.

  Pezzik crept through the wall of the inn, coming out in the kitchen. The inn’s round cook, Lola, swept the floor, jumping when she saw Pezzik. She kneeled in front of the gnome.

  “Pezzik! What are you doing out? They will see you.”

  Pezzik tilted her head. “The cantors?”

  Lola nodded, her ample chins wobbling. She pushed a strand of dark hair that had escaped her kerchief. “Thank the cyntae you are all right. They have set Master Lile in charge of the inn. There is a curfew until the rites are complete. Pezzik, they have taken all the deemling, and we’re to report the sight of any gnome at once. They say you are dangerous.”

  Pezzik sniffed. “I’m only dangerous to fools. Where is Bell?”

  The cook shook her head. “I’ve not seen her since the purification began. It was terrible, all the acolytes in the streets with their hoods, those bells ringing. We thought certain the madness was falling again, only this time it had fallen on the cantors. Most townfolk have been afraid to set foot outside, and that’s a fact. The cantors are watching the common room. Several acolytes are in there right now.” Lola’s eyes pleaded with her. “You have to hide.”

  Pezzik patted her arm. “Do not fear for me, good woman. Have you seen Jax?”

  The cook gestured toward the door to the wine cellar. She looked from the kitchen door to the cellar, as if frightened of discovery. Pezzik nodded. She opened the cellar door, sliding into the cool darkness. As Lola shut the door behind her, Pezzik heard her answering a muffled query.

  “Who were you—”

  The question was silenced as the heavy door shut. Pezzik hurried down the steps.

  Rows of casks rested in the vaulted cellar. Pezzik walked behind the first row of casks and found Jax. He stood, lost in thought, on top of a stool. He had fashioned a barrel into a makeshift table. Sheets of paper were spread on it, and he was busy writing, every now and again, stopping to read over what he had written and nodding to himself.

  “Where have you been? What is happening? Where is Bell? Is she all right?” Pezzik demanded, the questions coming rapid fire as she settled on the other stool to rest.

  Jax jumped. “I’ve been working out how to save Bell,” he said, gesturing to his papers. “She’s in the Chapterhouse tunnels along with the other deemling. None of them are free. They’ve all been purified with some Arcana I’ve never seen before. It affected Bell as if she is fully dewin. Mod has vanished.”

  Pezzik clucked. “So they’re risking the wrath of all gnomes, then? Bold as bears and no mistake.”

  Jax nodded. “It took a while for me to find Bell, and when I did, it was too late. She doesn’t respond. I can’t get her to the surface alone. They are set to move all the deemling tomorrow. A skycart is coming to take them south. Ar
ic leads this effort. He sent Nadir to the Burrow this morning.”

  Pezzik sniffed. “Fat lot of good that will do. The forest is ready. Our warriors will prevail, they always do. But a skycart? The aeries are aiding these tyrants? We haven’t seen cantors behave so for centuries. The chymaera did not aid them before, why do they now?”

  Jax shook his head. “You must feel it. The Song has been fading. This isn’t the normal waning we see in midsummer, ’tis more. The vile son of a beetle, Aric, might have deceived the chymaera as he deceived us.”

  Pezzik set her jaw. “What of the other deema? If all the deemling were taken, then their deema should be tracking. Bolly? Tonk? Popple? Noorie? Dodd? All should be here.”

  Jax squared his shoulders. “I sent them out to spy. They’re preparing special gifts for our hooded friends.”

  Pezzik raised an eyebrow.

  Jax rubbed his hands together and laced them, turned them backwards, and stretched his arms to their full length in front of his paunch. “Let’s just say tomorrow will be a very bad day for the cantors. A very bad day indeed.”

  Nadir trotted along the forest road, not quite at the head of the company. The trees were growing enormous. They were nearing the Grove. He had fifty men, mostly trained soldiers from the baron’s watch. All were mounted and under his sole purview, with Baron Pickell away at court. The men were more than enough to make quick work of these nasty little vermin. Insufferable monsters, with their beady eyes and their unusual strength. Nadir entertained himself as he rode, thinking about what he would do to the wee beasts. He could ride them down. He could burn them out of their Burrow. He could...

  Nadir’s reverie was rudely interrupted when the group topped a hill. His horse reared, nearly throwing him. The other horses in the company also spooked. It took several minutes to get them back under control. When they did, a line seven feet deep of armored, steadfast gnomes blocked their path forward.

  Nadir barely took in the full extent of the gnome army before a large black bear emerged from the forest in front of the assembled troops. A tiny wizened gnome perched between her ears. The bear’s size commanded attention. Nadir’s horse sidestepped and whinnied. The bear stepped closer until the gnome and the cantor’s horse were face-to-face. Nadir fought to control his horse.

  The gnome regarded Nadir, gravely. He turned to Nadir’s horse. “Fear not! I’m sorry, madam, we mean you and your kin no harm this day, But, if you persist in following my people, I must insist on defending them. It will be very unpleasant, and likely fatal for all of you.”

  The horse neighed.

  “Yes, ma’am,” replied the gnome. “Indeed, it isn’t intelligent to ride horses if you go to war with gnomes. I will let him know that. I do much prefer to negotiate with the most reasonable members of a party. You horses seem more mature than your riders. If you don’t mind my saying so. But I shall defer to your wisdom.”

  The gnome bowed slightly.

  The horse whinnied and pawed the ground.

  The gnome addressed Nadir. “Ser. My name is Captain Gully, and I command the Heyegrove Burrow Regiment. I must object to your further intrusion into our grove. If you take one more step, your horse assures me she shall throw you. My troops will then cut you down like curs. This bear and all of the forest animals will likewise defend us.”

  As if on cue, a number of foxes, badgers, otters, and even snakes emerged from the woods, coming to stand in front of the gnomes.

  “In addition, you will promise never to harm or meddle with any of our kind in the future. Turn around and you will be allowed to return to your homes, unharmed. All of you.” The gnome was speaking now to Nadir’s little army. His voice was pitched to carry.

  Nadir pulled himself up to his full height and laughed in the gnome’s face.

  “How dare you, you venomous little...”

  Nadir’s horse reared, promptly throwing him into the dirt. She immediately joined the line of animals with the gnomes.

  Nadir lay in the road. Slowly, he got to his feet, checking himself for injury—his dignity, bruised.

  Captain Gully and the local watchmen barely stifled amusement. The rest of Nadir’s troop sat waiting for orders, carefully expressionless and unmoving.

  Ungrateful wretches. He should have brought only the acolytes. This was that peacock Aric’s fault. He could just Cant, and kill them all, but the watch would rebel or carry the tale to the twit baron, Pickell. No, it had to be the sword.

  Slowly, Nadir clapped. “Well done, well done my small friend. I will accept your terms, you leave me no choice. After all, what other choice do I have when faced with such a company, except to...attack!”

  With that, he charged the bear, drawing his sword. The few acolytes with him pressed into the fray, urging their horses forward.

  The watchmen held back.

  Every single man who moved against the gnomes was thrown from his horse without ceremony or hesitation. Each riderless horse took up a position behind the gnomes.

  Nadir received a cuff on the head from the bear while being shot full of small arrows. He fell in the middle of the road, unconscious.

  The others, seeing Nadir fall, laid down their weapons and backed away.

  Captain Gully turned to the man still on horseback directly behind Nadir, the officer of the watch. “Sir, our terms still stand, if you choose to accept them. We have enjoyed a long friendship with the men of Dohnavur and with the baron. We have no wish to be at war with you. Should you proceed, war you shall have.”

  The captain bowed in his saddle. He saluted the bear and the other forest animals. “Retreat at once!” he ordered.

  While his men loaded Nadir’s body carefully on one of their horses, the now horseless acolytes mounted behind other soldiers. The last man was nearly out of his sight when he turned back to the gnomes. They still stood in formation, blocking the road.

  “Thank you, Captain, and please accept my deepest apology. This will not happen again. I give you my word. Your families will remain safe,” said the officer. “I will speak to the village council and send word to the baron.”

  Captain Gully nodded and bowed to the man. “Your apology is accepted. Go with grace. May the Song lead you home.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  NOORIE LOOKED FROM Dodd to Popple. They were younger gnomes, only in their sixties, not yet grown into their beards and caps. Dodd, with his dark hair and slow, thoughtful manner, was likely safe to leave on his own. But Popple? Popple was thin, quick, and tricksy. His cap was never properly clean or sitting straight. His clothes were always rumpled. He was overconfident. Popple could get caught. But the Conclave had taken his deemling too. It was time to go to war.

  Tonk and Bolly were planting itching powder and nettles in the boots, pillows, and beds of every cantor and acolyte in Dohnavur. Perhaps Popple should have joined them. Too late now. These young bravados were needed to gather information. Usually when Noorie wanted to know something about the Conclave, he would simply follow the cantor, Nadir. The man was a fool who loved to talk to himself. But Nadir had ridden off into the forest that morning, leaving this new cantor, Aric, in charge.

  “We can’t follow Aric around inside the Chapterhouse openly, we’ll have to move between the walls and ceilings. Best to split up and meet back at the inn. Report to Jax in three hours. Learn what you can, and don’t get caught!” Noorie explained, tugging his beard for emphasis.

  With a nod, Popple grinned and pushed his disheveled cap up on his wide forehead. “We need to know when the chymaera will be here and where the skycart will be? Anything else?”

  “Just anything you can learn about their plans will help,” said Noorie.

  Dodd nodded slowly. “I’ll explore the lower chambers.”

  “Popple, you should follow any of the cantors or their acolytes about town, stay hidden but watch and listen,” Norrie instructed. “I’ll take the other floors inside.”

  With a wink and nod, Popple was scrambling up the side of the
townhouse beside them. He disappeared over the roof line even as Dodd sank down into the earth.

  Noorie sighed and crossed the street. He climbed up the stone wall of the Chapterhouse. He wouldn’t worry about Popple. He had too much of his own work to do.

  The stone felt cold, chilling Noorie as he sank into the wall, through to the other side. He entered near the ceiling height of an inner chamber, poking his head in to listen.

  “Cows give milk, but it’s sour as my pappy’s spit. Been like that nigh on a month now. And I come to Camber proper. I pay my taxes. This purification ‘tain’t helping,” said a farmer earnestly to a cantor.

  The young cantor nodded, writing notes on a scroll before him. “We expect to see the changes take effect within a week or so. Be patient. In the meantime, take this and sprinkle it on the fields where your cows graze.” The cantor handed the farmer a pouch.

  Noorie shook his head and moved on, backing out of this room and creeping along the wall to the next one. He pushed through again and watched. Here ten cantors sat, rehearsing the Cants for Camber on Moonday. Noorie slipped out of this room as well.

  In the next room, he saw rows upon rows of flowers drying. It was empty. A woman covered in festering sores lay in the room beyond, moaning. Acolytes attended her. Three chambers contained more of the sick. Several were townsfolk Noorie recognized. All seemed to be suffering from a kind of pox. He quickly retreated.

  Noorie nearly left the next room immediately. It appeared to be empty and dark. Before he could retreat, the door opened, and glowstones came to light. A bearded man dressed in common garb strode in and sat at a desk. He pulled out a piece of parchment and began writing. Noorie settled in to wait. A half an hour later, the man folded and sealed the parchment. He rang a handbell on the desk. An acolyte entered the room in response.