“That is true,” admitted Afah. “But I am our leader.”
The End of a Golden Age
When Fang returned to the real world he was cold and stiff, despite the blanket the Princess had wrapped around him. The candle was out. He clambered to his feet, a rising excitement in him as he recalled the details of his eduction. He knew where the gnomes had come from! He knew the origins of Pan and the Sharan! He couldn’t wait to tell the Princess.
He pushed open the door. “Princess!”
There was no reply. He went through to the bedroom and saw the Princess asleep on the bed, undressed. There was a gentle smile on her face and he hoped she was dreaming of him. As he stood looking down at her, wondering if he had the decency not to awaken her, an unpleasant thought occurred.
While he’d been lost in contemplation, the warts might have flown back!
Quickly he examined the Princess’s body. No warts there. He pulled up his pants legs, searched frantically around his neck. No warts. He lit another candle and returned to the tunnel. He searched carefully, peering into the crevices. Finally he searched the otter trap. The warts were nowhere to be seen. They had gone.
Feeling at peace with the world, he sat at the entrance to the burrow and watched the water rippling by. It was early evening. He and the Princess had spent most of the day loving each other. He grinned to himself, noticing the overhang from which he’d watched the Princess bathing. That had been a good day, too, although he hadn’t recognized it as such at the time.
There would be more good days. Somehow the problems of gnomedom seemed a long way off. Spring was coming, and he could see the buds swelling in the tracery of twigs against the sky. Umbral waves raced overhead; it was high tide in the giants’ world. He wondered what Nyneve was doing. Probably lying with some giant lover, looking at the moons.
He looked at the moons himself.
There were only two of them.
Then the umbral waves came crashing into reality, and Fang’s world turned to water.
Huge bubbles swam past him, belching out of the burrow and wobbling up to the surface. He gulped in a deep breath from a momentary pocket of air. He had to get back to the Princess. He turned to scramble back down the burrow, but another blast of air blew him backward out of the tunnel mouth. In seconds he found himself on the surface, squealing with fright.
The sea was in turmoil, bubbling and racing toward the beach fifty yards away. He thrashed round in a circle, looking for a familiar landmark—but the trees of gnomedom were gone. Trees stood on the distant shore, but they were giants’ trees—the beginnings of the Mara Zion in which Nyneve and her people lived. Gnomedom had disappeared completely. Fang was yelling in anguish and fear; then a wave slopped into his mouth and he began to cough instead. Where was the Princess now? She must be somewhere below him, trapped in her house, but how could he find her? The waves swirled him this way and that, washing him toward the beach. He dived, but was quickly forced to the surface. He couldn’t see a thing down there. The water was opaque with silt.
“Princess!” He shouted, frantically. “Princess!”
Something crashed against him, struggling. He seized it in his arms. “Princess?” But it was too big, too strong. As the foam subsided, he saw the terrified eye of Thunderer. The rabbit was tethered to the sea bed, unable to swim to the shore.
The other end of the rope was tied to a root just outside the entrance to the Princess’s burrow. …
Fang fumbled with the knot at the rabbit’s throat, crying with impatience, and eventually jerked it free. Thunderer, released, began to swim toward the shore. Taking a deep breath, Fang hauled himself hand over hand down the rope. Foam bubbled past him, rising from the nooks and crannies of gnomedom. It seemed a very long way down, and by the time Fang reached the loop at the end of the rope his head was spinning. He reached out, found the tunnel entrance, and swam into the darkness beyond. Above the singing of his ears he could hear the crash of water in motion. All the tunnels of gnomedom were filling up. He swam on, knowing that he had to find air within seconds. The tunnel seemed endless and Fang uttered little whimpering sounds behind closed lips. He wasn’t going to make it. The Princess would die. The singing in his ears became a roar. Beaten, he let go a lungful of air in a bubbling scream of fright. His head smashed into something solid, and his mind exploded into brightness. He drew in a great, whistling breath … and found that he was breathing air.
He was at the top of the flight of steps outside the Princess’s door, and the water had not yet reached the roof. Raising the latch, he crawled into the house, accompanied by a rapidly—spreading lake of water. “Princess!” he gasped.
“Fang! Oh, Fang!” They clung together for a moment.
Then he pushed her away. “We don’t have much time. Gnomedom is gone, and we’re living in the giants’ world. We’re under the sea.”
“So it happened! You were right. Oh, Fang, what shall we do now?”
“First we get out of here. Then we find the others … if there are any others.” His face was twisted in despair. “If only I’d found the answer! I’m the new Memorizer and there’s got to be a way off this terrible world, but I haven’t found it yet!” His self-recriminations were interrupted by a deafening roar as a mass of air forced its way back down the tunnel. A wave of dark water flowed in, rising to their knees.
The Princess uttered a scream, then recovered herself as the rising water slowed down. “How do we get out, Fang?”
Fang was wading toward the far corner of the room. He reached up, unhooked the clothesline from the ceiling and shook out the big coil at the end. “We’ll tie ourselves together, and go back the way I came in.” He knotted the line around her waist, then around his. Then he led the way to the entrance. “It’s a long way, Princess. Take a deep breath before we start.”
“Not yet, Fang. Let the water rise a little higher, then we won’t have such a strong current against us.”
So they waited, their arms around each other, while the water swirled around their waists, then their chests, and finally their necks.
“Go!” said Fang, and plunged underwater.
The Princess took a last look around her home. The water was halfway up the walls now; all she could see was her wall carvings, a few shelves with ornaments on them, the chimney, and one flickering candle on a bracket. She took a breath, ducked under the surface and began to swim, and carried the image of that candle with her all through the tunnel, until she could see the pale disc of the entrance and Fang outlined against it, moving like a frog. Then she was through, shooting upward. Her head broke the surface. She exhaled and gulped in air. She felt a tug at her waist and saw Fang much closer to the shore, swimming clumsily. She followed, and within a few moments she was caught in a breaking wave and bowled onto the beach. Fang was already running to her aid, getting his arms under her and carrying her to safety. They untied themselves and looked around.
The beach formed a long, wide crescent. The Princess had never seen it before, but Fang had. It was the beach he’d visited during his journey through the giants’ world.
“We have to get out of here,” he said. “We’re too exposed.”
“But what about the others?”
He glanced at her. “They may not be coming.”
One of them was, however. Two heads showed above the water, then were lost in the surf. In a moment a bedraggled mouse emerged and began to struggle up the wet sand. Hanging onto its tail was the Gooligog. He stood, muttering, and made ineffectual brushing motions at his wet clothes.
Fang ran to him. “Father!”
“Oh, it’s you, Willie. This is a flash flood. There are ways of dealing with it. I remember, two hundred and twenty years ago, the whole of gnomedom was flooded out, and King Bison …” His voice trailed away. He was totally disoriented. “You call this a flood?” he asked Fang belligerently. “This is nothing.”
“It’s not a flood. We’re in the giants’ world. This is the umbra, father
.”
“The umbra?” The old gnome’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in a dismay so sudden that Fang almost laughed. “You mean this is it? It’s happened? So where’s gnomedom, Willie?”
“There is no gnomedom, Father. Everything’s gone.”
“And all the gnomes, too?”
“All those who lived below this waterline.” Fang scanned the sea gloomily, then something caught his attention. “What’s that?”
“They’re gnomes!” cried the Princess. “They’re on some kind of raft!”
They watched breathlessly and heard faint shouting. After a moment Fang said quietly, “They’re a long way out.”
The Gooligog, becoming more lucid by the minute, said, “The wind’s blowing them away. That’s the end of them, I’m afraid.” He shivered. “I’m damned cold. Let’s get along to your home, Willie—I mean Fang. It was above the waterline, wasn’t it? We can’t do anything for those poor gnomes. They’re doomed. Memorize this moment, Fang, and let it ring through gnomish history forever. They were brave gnomes.”
“I expect they’re very scared and cowardly gnomes,” said Fang. “I can’t leave them.”
“Well, I can’t watch them.”
“Turn the other way, then.” He picked up the rope and measured it with his eye against the distance to the stranded gnomes. It was nowhere near long enough. He groaned.
“Unwind it,” suggested the Princess. “There are five strands making up that rope. Let’s untwist them and tie the ends together, and we’ll have a rope five times as long.”
“And five times as weak,” the Gooligog said.
“Shut up,” snapped Fang. And the old gnome, in the act of opening his mouth again, shut it obediently. “Help unravel this rope,” Fang said.
It took longer than they would have liked because the rope kept writhing and tangling itself as they tried to separate the strands. In the end they evolved a good system. Fang and the Gooligog held the rope stretched between them while the Princess walked from one end to the other, unwinding a single strand with nimble fingers. Four times she did this, then Fang quickly knotted the strands into a long rope. He tied the one end around his waist, and the other around the neck of Thunderer. He stepped into the waves.
“If I look as though I’m drowning,” he called, “just slap Thunderer on the rump and he’ll pull me back. But don’t do it unless it’s absolutely necessary.” He plunged into the surf and began to swim.
It was heavy going at first, and he was already tired from his previous efforts. But gnomes are resilient creatures, and when he reached calmer waters he began to make good progress. The shouts of the raft’s crew became louder and more encouraging, and soon he could recognize individual voices: the Miggot’s screech and Lady Duck’s stentorian bellow.
“Hooray for Fang!” shouted Lady Duck as he reached the raft with a perilously short length of rope to spare. “Slayer of the daggertooth, rescuer of gnomes in peril!”
“Well done, Fang,” said King Bison, patting him on the back as he tied the end of the rope to the raft—which at close quarters proved to be a small, dead log with a thick branch projecting from one side which prevented it rolling. Four gnomes sat on it: King Bison, Lady Duck, the Miggot of One, and Elmera.
“A courageous act,” said the Miggot, almost smiling. His wife said nothing. She could hardly have said Fang’s was an act of cowardice—but, on the other hand, she could hardly have agreed with her husband.
“What now Fang?” asked King Bison.
“The other end’s tied to Thunderer. I just give him the word, and he pulls us in.”
“Well, give him the word, then! What are you waiting for?”
Fang flushed. “Away, Thunderer!” he shouted in high embarrassment.
“The cry!” shouted Lady Duck delightedly. “Let us all give the cry!”
“Away, Thunderer!” they yelled.
They saw movement on the beach, the rope tightened, and the raft began to move steadily shoreward.
A knot of scared gnomes huddled among the dunes near the beach. The initial relief at their escape from drowning had been replaced by a growing despair as they realized that their lives would never be the same again. There would be no more evening gatherings in the forest, no more fireside storytelling, no more wild rides on rabbit-back—not if they wanted to keep their existence secret from the giants. As they debated their next move, other gnomes arrived from the forest, also rendered homeless by the conjunction of happentracks.
“My house is gone,” lamented Clubfoot Trimble. “One minute I was lying in bed, thinking maybe I’d stay there all day, and the next minute the bed was gone and the room was gone, and I was lying on the forest floor! There was a heavy frost, too. I looked around and everything was strange, except for a big boulder which looked much the same. Even the oldest trees had disappeared and there were different ones there, just as old. Then—” Involuntarily he gulped, fear in his eyes “—a giant came along. Not in the umbra. He was real, with huge, heavy feet. I hid under a clump of ferns and he passed me by without seeing me—which was lucky, because he looked mean enough to have stomped on me if he’d had half a chance.”
“Or roasted you,” said King Bison.
“Or roasted me,” agreed Clubfoot, shivering.
Other gnomes told their tales, and they all confirmed one fact: gnomedom had ceased to exist. However, most of the gnomes seemed to have survived the disaster. There were no notable absentees, and in due course the lamenting coalesced into one question.
“What shall we do now?” asked Lady Duck.
And they all looked at Fang.
He frowned and looked away, as though deep in constructive thought. In fact his mind was bereft of ideas of any kind. He knew they had to leave Earth; but until he knew how, there was no point in raising the issue. What could they do until then? Where could they hide, in a totally strange environment? What could he tell them now, now that they respected him as a gnome of action? They were still looking at him. He would have to come up with an answer quickly, or lose credibility. What would Nyneve’s Arthur have done? He would have raised his sword and pointed, and intoned, “Follow me, men. I will lead you into a new tomorrow.”
He turned to the gnomes, hoping they could not detect the light of panic in his eyes. He pointed into the forest. “Follow me,” he said, “gnomes, and I’ll find a place where we can hole up for a while.”
“Where, exactly?” asked the Gooligog, who was back to normal.
“I know a place. I’ve been in this forest before. There’s no point in me telling you where, because it wouldn’t mean anything to you.”
“It’s not damp, is it?” quavered old Crotchet. “I can’t stand the damp.”
“It’s very dry, as a matter of fact.”
“Not too exposed, I hope?” asked Lady Duck anxiously. “There’s still a hint of frost in the mornings.”
“Actually, it’s very snug.”
“You’ve thought of food, of course,” said King Bison. “There has to be plenty of food nearby.”
“There are mushrooms and garlic root and early buds,” said Fang desperately, aware that he was being trapped into describing a nonexistent place. Arthur would never have had this trouble. Arthur would have been on the road by now, his men strung out obediently behind him, riding two by two. “The main thing,” he said, “is that the giants won’t find us there. We’ll be safe.”
The Princess, who had been silent up to now, addressed the gnomes. “Let’s get started, shall we? We’re not getting anywhere like this.”
Elmera said, “Just who are you to tell us what to do?”
“I’m Fang’s girl,” said the Princess.
A feeling of tremendous pride flowed through Fang. The Princess was his girl! His confidence returned in a rush. “Let’s go!” he shouted. He lifted the Princess onto Thunderer, climbed on himself, and set off through the dunes without even looking back to see if they followed. The Princess sat close behind him
with her arms around him. He reined Thunderer back to a slow hop as they entered the trees.
“Where are we going, Fang?” asked the Princess quietly.
“I’ve no idea. I had to get them off the beach.”
She laughed. “Just keep going. We’ll find somewhere.”
“I hope so.” They rode in silence for a while, then suddenly Fang said, “What’s that?”
“What?”
“I thought I saw something over there. A gnome, running. Hello!” he shouted, and reined Thunderer in. The straggling column of gnomes caught up with him. They scanned the undergrowth.
The undergrowth spoke. “Who’s that?” it said in querulous tones.
“Fang and the Mara Zion gnomes.”
“I know that voice,” said the Miggot. “Is that you, Hal?”
A tattered and dirty gnome emerged from the bushes. “I’ve had the most terrible morning,” said Hal. “If I’ve never been pleased to see you before, Miggot, I’m pleased to see you now. You’ll never believe what’s been happening up at Pentor. My home’s gone, for one thing. And I was captured by giants. If it hadn’t been for my extreme resourcefulness, I’d have been roasted by now.” Honesty compelled him to add, “That, and a pleasant giant called Nyneve. Well, you’re stuck with me for a while, Miggot. I’m going to have to move in with you.”
“I have no home,” said the Miggot sadly. “Gnomedom is gone. We live in a giant’s world. My home’s under the sea.”
“You mean it’s happened here, too? But …” Hal looked around wildly, as though seeing the forest for the first time. “But this is terrible! Can’t you create something to protect us, Miggot? Consult Pan!”
“Pan’s drowned, and we lost the Sharan months ago.”
“But they were your sacred trust!” cried Hal accusingly.
“I failed.”
“There’s no purpose in you existence, now,” said Hal, pressing home his advantage.
“There’s no purpose in anyone’s existence.” The Miggot fought back. “At least I used to have a purpose. What about you, sitting in a damp cave all your life?”
Fang, the Gnome (Song of Earth) Page 32