“You must be Nyneve.” His voice was deep and resonant; a voice to command battles.
She regarded his face wonderingly. “But you’re … young.”
He smiled. “So are you.”
“No, I meant. …” She looked up at Avalona. “The last time we played the game he was much older.”
“The coincidence of happentracks was not exact,” said the Dedo. “He has joined us at an earlier stage of his life.”
“You mean … he’s not married yet? He hasn’t met Guinevere?”
“No. And you have knowledge of the events that are going to shape his life. Use it wisely. Do not destroy him.”
Arthur raised himself up onto one elbow. “I wish I knew what you women are talking about. What’s going on here? Where’s Merlin? Did I fall asleep? How did I get into this boat?”
And suddenly it was morning, and the sun lit his hair like flames. The oarswomen had gone, the boat grounded at the lakeshore. All the people had gone. “Come,” said Avalona. Arthur jumped ashore, lifted Avalona out, then Nyneve.
His hands were warm on her waist and he kissed her lightly, playfully on the cheek as he set her on the beach. I’ve got him! she exulted. He’s mine, and I’ll make bloody sure he never meets Guinevere!
“Never underestimate the inevitability of the ifalong,” said Avalona, as though she’d read Nyneve’s mind. “And now, Arthur, I have a gift for you. It is a sword, like no man has ever had before. With this sword in your hand you will never be defeated in battle, and—”
“Haven’t you forgotten something?” whispered Nyneve urgently.
“I never forget.”
“The arm rising from the lake?”
“We’ve done all that. It’s history, it will be remembered. Now, Arthur, take off your boots and leggings, and paddle out there. Look for a sword lying on the bottom. It’s quite heavy, so Torre couldn’t have thrown it very far.”
He looked at her doubtfully. “You’re quite sure about this? You people threw a sword in there? That’s a funny thing to do.”
“We had our reasons,” said Avalona.
Nyneve, hugging a growing joy to herself, watched Arthur pull his boots and socks off just like a normal person, and heard him gasp with the cold of the water.
“I think I see it,” he called after a while, and he bent over and reached below the surface. “This is a hell of a sword!” he shouted in delight, waving Excalibur in the morning sunlight. “A man could have some fun with a sword like this!”
Several hours earlier, Galahad had led the gnomes to the hillside overlooking the lake. After foraging for berries they settled down on the grass and lit a fire. Galahad had thoughtfully provided beer, and for a while things didn’t look too bad. The flames crackled up into the evening sky, the beer warmed their bellies, and the euphoria of their two recent escapes—from the sea and from the giants—was still with them.
Time passed, and it occurred to Fang that a question needed to be asked. He addressed Galahad, who sat like a mountain beside him.
“I’m not complaining or anything like that. But why are we here?”
“Do you have anything better to do?” The great voice boomed down at him.
“No. Of course not. Although I did have in mind a sort of quest, if you know what I mean. More of a search, really, for a way to get off Earth. The giants—I mean the humans—will kill us one way or another if we stay.”
“It will be some time before your race leaves Earth.”
“Oh, will it? How do you know?”
Galahad smiled. “Happentracks are funny things, Fang. You and I, we don’t quite … coincide. You’ll find out one day, when we meet again.”
“That boat’s pushing off,” said the Miggot suddenly.
The lake was silvered with moonlight, the funeral barge a black beetle creeping away from the shore. “I think that’s Nyneve down there,” said Fang. “And Tristan. … Do you know, Tristan was kind of fun, in spite of all the fighting. Nyneve liked him. I’m really sorry he’s dead,” he said wonderingly.
The sky darkened as though a curtain had been drawn.
“What the hell’s going on?” exclaimed the Miggot.
“The moons! The moons!” cried Lady Duck. “What’s happened to the moons?”
Simultaneously there was a sound like a thunderclap, and a gust of wind threw the gnomes into a heap and sent embers swirling into the sky.
“Watch it,” snarled the Gooligog, removing Spector’s foot from his face.
“I suggest you concern yourself with the phenomenon that caused this,” said Spector, coming as close as he could to losing his temper.
“Phenomena don’t kick me in the face. Feet do.”
“Where’s Galahad?” shouted Lady Duck.
“He’s gone,” whispered Clubfoot, awed. “Just like that. I never saw him go.”
“You’ve loosened a tooth. They don’t grow back, you know. Not at my age.”
There was a frightened pause, then somebody said, “What the hell do we do now?”
All eyes swiveled toward Fang.
“Bison,” he said quickly. “What do we do, Bison?”
“Bison’s a broken reed,” said Elmera. “You must shoulder the responsibility, Fang.”
“But I’m the Memorizer,” said Fang. “I can’t be leader as well.”
“It would be a conflict of interests,” agreed Spector wisely.
“You didn’t worry about conflict of interests when you led us from the beach,” the Miggot pointed out.
“I got carried away in the excitement of the moment.”
“That proves you’re a natural leader.”
“Unlike Bison,” added Elmera. “Bison was never leadership material, if the truth be known.”
“The responsibility weighed heavily on me,” Bison admitted.
“You bore the burden like a champion,” Lady Duck reassured him. “I’d like to see the Miggot perform so well.”
“Actually, the Miggot is excellent leadership material,” said Elmera unexpectedly.
“I thought you said he was a callous swine.”
“A leader must be ruthless. The Miggot has an iron hand in his velvet glove.”
“Wait a moment,” said Clubfoot, puzzled. “I thought it was Fang we were talking about. I thought Fang was going to be our leader. What’s the Miggot got to do with it?”
“The Miggot is redundant,” said Spector. “Particularly since the loss of the Sharan.”
“Fang lost the Sharan,” Old Crotchet remembered with an effort. “Is that what you call leadership?”
“When you get right down to it,” said Spector, “it was Elmera who lost the Sharan.”
They fell silent, working this out until the excitement of the day took its toll. One by one they fell asleep, until only Fang’s and the Miggot’s eyes remained open, gazing dreamily at the lake.
“The boat’s gone,” murmured Fang.
“We’ll have to move on in the morning. Where shall we go?”
“I don’t know. I’ll do some educing tonight. Maybe I’ll discover something.”
The Miggot sighed. “It’s pointless staying on Earth without the Sharan.”
“We’ll just have to track her down.”
“The Sharan’s no use without Pan. And I think Pan must be drowned.”
“I’m sorry, Miggot.”
“Anybody would have lost his nerve, with that horn coming for him,” said the Miggot kindly.
“I meant I was sorry for Pan being drowned.”
The only reply was a faint snore. Fang considered kicking the Miggot awake and pointing out his error, but decided against it. He had some educing to do.
Fang dug back into his memories while the rest of the gnomes slept. He decided the clue must lie in the conversations dealing with the gnomes’ creation. The kikihuahuas were cautious people, with millennia in which to develop their plans. They would have covered almost as many eventualities as Avalona would. Details of the gnomes’ r
oute from Earth back to the spacebat would be in those plans.
It was near dawn before he found what he was looking for. But it was not what he wanted.
He had not paid enough attention during his previous journeys into the past. It was all there, in a discussion shortly before the creation of the gnomes. There was a meeting on the spacebat. He’d listened in on that meeting before …
A voice drifted into his thoughts: “Can you educe an occasion when the Examples have been … bent, in the name of colonization?”
An old kikihuahua was smiling cynically. “I can educe them being shattered into fragments like a primitive’s clay pot.”
“Not in this bat,” said the kikihuahua called Phu.
“You should have seen the creature we sent down to Remocogen.”
“I find this difficult to believe,” said Phu. “I think—”
His voice was drowned out by cries of outrage.
“I apologize,” said Phu hastily, but the damage was done. He had challenged the recollections of a Memorizer, so his opinion was discredited.
Ou-Ou followed up his advantage as Offo retired to sulk. “You must realize that we bend the Examples, technically, every time we submit a specimen to the Hua-hi for ingestion. There are those who would claim that we kill the specimen. However, a minor Example reminds us that the specimen lives on in the chromosomes of its descendants. It’s a point of view, and we are practical people.”
“We offer a prayer,” said Phu, trying to ingratiate himself.
“An ancient and somewhat pointless superstition,” said Ou-Ou brutally. “After all, we invented the Examples ourselves to prevent another Tin Mother debacle. What is the point in asking forgiveness from some mythical higher intelligence?”
“You never know.” Phu was close to social collapse.
Afah stepped in again. “I sense a definite split in our thinking on this issue,” he said. “Phu is not the only person who is worried. Perhaps you could put all our minds at rest, Ou-Ou, by setting a time limit on the initial colonization party.”
“Time limit?” Ou-Ou gave the kikihuahua equivalent of a shrug. “How can I? What measurement can I use? You know I’ve always said—”
“I know, Ou-Ou. But this planet revolves, doesn’t it? It probably has seasons, too—they usually do. So give us a time limit based on the natural rhythms of the planet.”
Ou-Ou thought for a while, then said grudgingly, “Fifty thousand of their years.”
“Will that satisfy the meeting?” asked Afah. “We’ll place a limit on the period our creatures will be allowed to roam the planet and establish a civilization. Then they will be withdrawn. The dangerous work will be over. We ourselves can then go down there and live normal lives within the framework of the Examples.”
“Suppose our creatures fail?” somebody asked.
“We’ll know the answer to that in fifty thousand years.”
He received indications of approval, and heard a verbal aside from Offo: “A similar compromise was reached in the case of the planet Remocogen. The colonization was successful.”
Phu said, “Just so long as the … things we create don’t deviate too far from the Examples, in their enthusiasm for the job entrusted to them.” He glanced nervously at the unconscious biped nearby.
“You and I will supervise the creation, Phu,” said Afah.
“And I will help with the specifications,” added Ou-Ou quickly.
They made their way to the chamber where the Sa-Hua-hi lived. …
And Fang opened his eyes.
Fifty thousand years!
How long had the gnomes been on Earth so far? Twenty thousand or so? That meant another thirty thousand years to go! And no means of contact until their time was up. They would never make it. The species of gnome would become extinct in a single generation, now that Galahad was gone. The giants would see to that. In the early dawn light he looked around at the company of sleeping gnomes, and he pitied them. Should he tell them? Or should he stall them, until they’d settled down in their new world?
But they would be looking for a lead from him. What lead could he give?
Bison opened his eyes, glanced around in quick alarm, sighted Fang and grinned with relief. “Fang,” he said, as though the name were a thanksgiving.
Other gnomes awakened, yawning and stretching. They stood and scratched and rubbed their eyes. Then, settling their caps firmly on their heads, they gathered around Fang.
“Well?” said the Gooligog.
Fang looked from face to face. The Princess, trusting him. The Miggot, expecting much. Bison, relieved he was no longer leader. Clubfoot, eyes bright with simple faith. Spector, constructing a psychological significance around this moment. Lady Duck, awaiting the chance to yell enthusiastic agreement. The Gooligog, skeptical. The others, all in their various ways awaiting dynamic words of leadership, awaiting a fully developed plan of action. And what could he tel them? He swallowed and opened him mouth. “Gnomes,” he croaked.
And at that moment there was a blessed diversion.
“Look!” said the Miggot.
A boat was gliding toward the shore some distance away Three giants stood in it, about to disembark. The sun slid from behind a low cloud and threw their shadows onto the beach. Fang recognized two of them: Nyneve and her frightful foster mother. The third was a man he’d never seen before: tall, with an aristocratic bearing and hair the color of the rising sun itself.
There was a strange glory surrounding the man as he lifted the women ashore. The sunlight gathered strength around him, and an ethereal music seemed to be playing He didn’t look like a giant, somehow. He seemed to represent life itself: hope and wonder and a simple faith in the future that transcended mere species. Just for a while, the man on the beach was a perfect being, representing all tha was good about livingkind, all the things the kikihuahuas held dear. And this spoke to the gnomes through their genes.
“Who is he?” breathed Clubfoot. “He’s not just a giant is he? He’s more than that, surely?”
“See the sunlight in his hair.”
“And do you hear music?”
Bison said, “I feel better, just looking at him.”
“No good will come of this, mark my words.”
“Shut up, Gooligog. He’s coming this way.”
The tall figure climbed steadily toward them, accompanied by Nyneve who, Fang thought, had never looked lovelier. Avalona—to everybody’s relief—walked away in the opposite direction, along the lakeshore.
“Let’s run,” whispered Bison.
“Too late,” said Fang. “They’ve seen us.”
The ground shook as the two humans halted and knelt before the gnomes. “Hello, Fang,” said Nyneve. “Hello, everybody. This is Arthur.”
“And you’re the gnomes,” said Arthur. “Nyneve’s told me about you. She says you’re frightened of living on this world.” He smiled. “Well, nobody should feel frightened as long as I’m in charge here.”
“Are you in charge?” asked Fang.
“He soon will be,” said Nyneve. “You just wait and see.”
Arthur smiled. “I have a dream,” he said, “I’m going to have to fight for it, which is a pity, but it will all work out in the end. And meanwhile, even though there will be fighting, I’m going to make sure that people like Nyneve and you are protected. So long as I’m alive, no harm will come to you gnomes.”
“No roasting on skewers?” asked Clubfoot.
Arthur laughed. “No roasting on skewers.”
“No dancing on tables or sweeping chimneys or cleaning out blocked drains?”
“Not unless you feel you really have to.”
“Just you two giants against all the other giants?” said the Miggot. “That’s not very good odds.”
Nyneve explained. “The other giants are ready for Arthur, Miggot. Tristan has prepared them. And I suppose I have, too, in a way. They’ll accept him and they’ll make him their king. I know it’s going to happen. Beli
eve me.”
“I believe you, Nyneve,” said Fang.
And the other gnomes believed her too, even the Gooligog. A wave of happiness spread through the group and, when Arthur and Nyneve took their leave, Lady Duck led the gnomes in three rousing cheers. Surprised at the enthusiasm of the piping voices, the giants turned around and waved. “See you again soon!” called Nyneve, and then they were lost from view in the forest.
“The music’s still playing,” said Elmera. “I thought it was something I was hearing just because of the giants. But it must be real. Where’s it coming from?”
“Over there.” The Miggot pointed. “It sounds kind of familiar, you know. Like …”
“Like Pan!” shouted Elmera.
In a body, the gnomes rushed into the forest, ducking under fallen logs, crashing through bushes, eventually emerging breathless into a clearing where the grass seemed a special green, and the leaves were like the sunlit feathers of an exotic bird. The music was louder here, the melody unearthly; and as the gnomes halted, it too came to a stop.
Pan laughed at their astonished faces. He sat cross-legged on a mossy granite boulder, pipes in hand.
“Greetings,” he said, jumping to the ground and performing a mocking bow.
But the gnomes’ eyes were fixed on the animal lying on the grass, relaxed and content, fur shimmering.
“The Sharan!” they shouted joyfully. “The Sharan!”
“And me,” said Pan.
The gnomes rushed to the unicorn and gathered around it, stroking it. Fang felt tears in his eyes, and brushed them away hastily. The Princess grabbed his hand and squeezed it.
“I’m every bit as important as the Sharan,” said Pan. “But you don’t like me so much, because I can answer you back.”
“It’s good to see you again, Pan,” said the Miggot without noticeable enthusiasm. “I thought you were drowned.”
“I have a well-developed survival sense.”
Now the gnomes, remembering that Pan had the ability to make the Sharan bolt if he became displeased, clustered around him and congratulated him on his continued existence.
Fang, the Gnome (Song of Earth) Page 35