“That is not important. What is important is that you take this. It is my gift to you, for I feel that it will come in quite handy. Be a good dwarf now and pull it off the side of my shell, for I have been carrying it long enough.”
Gibrig rubbed his hands together and reached out slowly. He trusted the snail, and he found that he liked him, but he had been duped before.
“Go on,” said the snail, glancing back at him.
Gibrig took hold of the shield and pulled.
“Harder,” said the snail.
Gibrig spit in his hands, planted his feet wide, and PULLED. The shield came off the snail’s shell with a thick sucking sound, pulling Gibrig off balance and causing him to fall to the floor with the shield on top of him. To his surprise, it was quite light.
“Ahhh,” said Shellington. “That is much better.”
Gibrig got to his feet and inspected the shield. He wiped it off with his sleeve and gasped to find that it was made of gold. That made no sense, however, for it weighed no more than a basket of eggs to Gibrig.
“It’s so light,” he said to himself.
“Hah! Light for you, but not for anyone else, my young dwarf friend. You will find that its magic is curious. I am not sure what it is for, but I know that you will need it.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Then say thank you.”
“Thank ye, Shellin…er, Slide. But, be I dreaming?”
“Not even you can answer that. But I can say that you are welcome, Master Hogstead. And I would thank you as well. For now, my work here is done.”
Gibrig’s eyes teared up for no good reason other than he was happy to meet someone nice in such a dark place. To be given such a wonderful gift…well, that was just a cherry on top. “I still can’t believe that ye came all this way just to give me a shield.”
“A magic shield,” Shellington corrected him with a wink. “We Varnevly take our spirit quest visions very seriously, for they come from the Maker of Wheels, the Father of Time, the Patriarch of the Stars and the Moon. He who turns the tides and makes the seasons come and go. His will is that of the light, and we are merely his humble servants.”
“And…He wanted me to have this?”
“It would seem so,” said Shellington.
“But…why? What does it do?”
“Why, it stops swords and arrows, clubs and spears.”
“And ye said it be magical?”
“Yes, it was forged in the heat of passion.” Shellington laughed when he saw Gibrig blush. “Not that kind of passion, my eager young friend. This was a passion unsurpassed by any other, for it was that of pure love, love for all things, the good and the bad, the happy and the sad. It was the passion for life that all creatures share. Beneath the full moon, and under the watchful eye of the Maker of Wheels, a mortal blacksmith forged it. Then he gave it to me, and now I give it to you. What it does, aside from what any shield does, is for you to discover.”
Gibrig wiped his eyes, and without thinking much about what he was doing, he hugged the giant snail.
“There, there, no need to be sad,” said Shellington, curving his neck to return the embrace the only way he could.
“It ain’t that,” said Gibrig with a sniffle. “They be tears o’ joy is all.”
“Tears of joy? Well, the world grows more curious every day, now doesn’t it?”
“It sure does.”
“Tell me, for I have been curious for quite some time. Who are you that I have traveled across the world for?”
“I’m just Gibrig Hogstead, son o’ Hagus Hogstead from the Iron Mountains. I just be a hog farmer.”
“Really?” said Shellington. “If you are a hog farmer, where are your hogs?”
“Snorts be waitin’ for me at the Wide Wall.”
“And why are you not on your farm, if that is what it is called?”
“Well, ye see, I be on a quest…”
Gibrig spent hours with Shellington, telling him all about the quest and the companions, and even the deception of Kazimir the Most High. The old snail was a good listener, and it was nice for Gibrig to talk about it all, for he was quite worried about his father. And when the topic turned to the kidnapping of the companions’ friends, Gibrig broke down. He hadn’t wanted to cry in front of the others. Gods knew that they already thought him soft. But Shellington made Gibrig feel at ease, and he felt like he could tell the kind snail anything. He went on to tell the story of his brother, Gillrog, and Shellington offered his condolences when he learned of the poor dwarf’s fate.
“I know of this place you speak, this…In-Between world,” said the snail.
Gibrig perked up at that. “Ye do?”
Shellington nodded gravely.
“Why ye actin’ like that?” said Gibrig, horrified by the implications.
“I would never be the first to say that it is impossible to travel to the In-Between and back again, but I will say that it is rare.”
“Yeah, well I be gettin’ me brother out o’ there someday!”
Shellington smiled kindly. “I believe you, my friend, and I wish you luck.”
Gibrig sighed. “Sorry that I raised my voice.”
“No worries,” said Shellington.
Gibrig thought of the others, and he looked out of the crack in the stone. “I should be gettin’ back. Me friends are goin’ to be worried to death. But…well, I don’t know the way out.”
“Ah,” said Shellington. “I believe that I can help you with that. Come, follow me. I will lead you to the western exit, assuming that is the direction your friends are headed.”
“Thanks, Slide. I can’t tell ye what this be meanin’ to me.”
“Why not?”
Gibrig laughed. “Well, I guess I could tell ye, but, ye see, it be a figure o’ speech.”
“Hmm,” said Shellington. “You will have to tell me about this, ‘figure o’ speech.’ Maker of Wheel knows we have time. For the way out takes an hour if not more.”
Gibrig plucked a mushroom from the wall, glad that it still glowed, and happily followed Shellington out of the rock formation.
Chapter 25
Mountains out of Molehills
“In here!” said Sir Eldrick, and he ducked down another tunnel.
Willow squeezed through the tunnel opening and set Brannon down on the floor at her feet, panting. They had been hurrying through the tunnels for over an hour, and Willow was drenched with sweat and quite thirsty. She began slurping water from a skin, but Sir Eldrick waved at her annoyedly and shushed her like a parent might.
They listened, but no rush of feet or echo of angry mole men followed.
“Looks like we outran the little fleabags,” said Willow before draining the contents of the water skin.
“For now,” said Sir Eldrick. He put Murland down next to Brannon and sated his own thirst.
“What are we going to do about Gib?” said Willow. “We’re miles away by now, and I don’t know about you, but I ain’t going to remember the way back through these tunnels. I ain’t no dwarf!”
“Calm down—”
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to tell a female to calm down?” she said, crossing her arms stubbornly.
“It’s like I said, if he survived the fall—”
“Why do you keep saying it like that? Of course he survived the fall.”
“Alright, then we must trust that he’ll find his own way. I am sure of it. You know that we cannot go back, not yet.”
“No,” said Willow, and she turned a scowl on Brannon and Murland. “Not with these two sleeping away like it’s a holiday.”
“Smelling salts would come in handy right now,” said Sir Eldrick.
“Hah,” said Willow. “I’ve got something better!”
Before Sir Eldrick could offer protest, she turned and bent, scrunched her face, and passed gas right in Murland and Brannon’s faces.
Sir Eldrick leapt to his feet and ran back into the main tunnel, covering his nose and laughi
ng while Murland and Brannon suddenly shot open their eyes. Still dizzy with the remnants of sleep, they coughed and sputtered and fell over each other to get to fresh air.
Willow laughed as they rolled around on the floor and crawled toward the main tunnel. “That’ll teach you nannywiggins to sleep on the job! Hah!”
“Quiet down,” said Sir Eldrick through stifled laughter.
“What, what happened?” said Murland, his eyes teary.
Brannon waved at the air in disgust, glaring at Willow. “You are so gross!” he said and covered his mouth, gagging.
“Where’s Gibrig?” said Murland.
Sir Eldrick told them both what had happened after they passed out.
“We’ve got to go back for him!” said Brannon, suddenly forgetting the stink in the air.
“It is as I have told Willow,” Sir Eldrick began, but the ogre swiftly interrupted him.
“Hah! Now we can take a vote. Who wants to go back to get Gibrig? Raise your hand.”
Both Murland and Brannon raised a hand.
“It is not that easy,” said Sir Eldrick.
“The vote is three to one,” Willow reminded him.
“I don’t give a shit what the vote is right now. You are not informed voters.”
“When has that ever stopped anyone?”
“Listen,” Sir Eldrick told them all. “We cannot fight our way through that horde, and believe me, there are likely to be thousands of mole men searching for us. As I told Willow, I believe that Gibrig will find his way. Either way, we have to let things cool down before we go searching for him.”
“I can make a compass to lead us to him,” said Murland.
“We don’t have time,” said Sir Eldrick.
“If you’re in such a hurry, then go,” said Brannon.
“We all voted to look for him, at least let us see which way he’s headed,” said Willow.
Sir Eldrick shook his head and eyed the three annoyedly. “Fine, just be quick. I doubt the mole men will be giving up anytime soon.”
***
Gibrig and Shellington emerged from the tunnel and into the glorious afternoon light. Being that he was a dwarf, Gibrig had no aversion to being underground, but it was nice to see the sun again.
Shellington craned his head toward the sun and stretched the tentacles housing his eyes skyward. “It has been a long time since I felt the sun on my face,” he said with a smile.
“I feel bad that ye had to wait down there so long for me,” said Gibrig.
“Of course you do. As you have told me, you feel bad about everything.” Shellington hummed a chuckle. “But your guilt is not necessary. As I said, this was part of my spirit quest.”
“So, what ye doin’ now, eh? Going back to your homeland?”
“Yes, indeed. The winds through the stones of Gorgorron are calling me home. But I will stay with you until you find your friends if you would like.”
Gibrig surveyed the land. By the sound of the crashing waves, he guessed that they were not far from the coast. They had come out in a grassy field littered with large round stones, like turtle shells, that stretched west into the Petrified Plains.
“I would like that,” said Gibrig, and he glanced back at the tunnel. “I sure hope they’re alright. Ye think…ye think we should go back in lookin’ for ‘em?”
“They may be looking for you. Perhaps we should just stay put.”
“Maybe you’re right,” said Gibrig. “I guess I better make camp then. What, um, what do you eat?”
Shellington looked around and hummed happily. “These dandelions look good. And there is plenty of algae on these rocks. Do not worry yourself over me.”
“Wow, that must be convenient. I don’t mind greens, though they don’t fill ye up like meat. But that’s got to be cooked and all.”
“I have never tried meat,” said Shellington. “For to eat it would mean to take the life of another, and that is against my beliefs.”
Gibrig suddenly felt guilty about wanting to eat the dried meat in his pack; instead, he picked a dandelion and smelled it before putting it in his mouth and chewing slowly. His face puckered, and Shellington offered him a knowing grin.
“They are sour at first. Here, try them with this lemon grass.”
Gibrig did so, and he lit up. “Hey, this ain’t half bad.”
Together, he and Shellington grazed between the stones for a time before Gibrig started setting up camp. There was plenty of dry brush and a few dead trees in the vicinity, and Gibrig started a small fire. It would still be a few hours before nightfall, but Shellington had seemed excited about the idea of a fire, and so Gibrig happily showed off his skills. The old snail was very interested in Gibrig’s fire-making tools and listened intently as Gibrig explained how his flint worked, adding with pride that it was a superior design to the human version.
Shellington’s curiosity about Fallacetine seemed insatiable, and though he had traveled far and wide, and had met many good people happy to teach him, he had never known a dwarf. As the sun made its way toward the horizon, Gibrig told him all about dwarven history and society. The stories made Gibrig miss the Iron Mountains, but he buried his sorrow, not wanting to spoil his time with the old and wise snail.
They talked late into the night, staring at the stars and imagining what might be out there. Shellington had strange theories about other planets and flying wagons that mesmerized Gibrig, and for a time he forgot about his worries.
***
“I got it!” said Murland, and everyone gathered around to watch the wooden coin float across the bowl of water, guided by Gibrig’s hair.
“It is pointing in the opposite direction of the spot where Gib fell down the shaft,” said Sir Eldrick, smiling at Willow.
“I guess you were right,” she said happily. “The little shit got away.”
“Now, we must do the same,” said Sir Eldrick, suddenly alert to something.
The sound of angry mole men echoed faintly down the tunnel. The companions wasted no time and hurried in Gibrig’s direction. A horn blared behind them, and the sounds of the charging mole men grew louder and louder.
“I think they’re gaining!” said Brannon as he trotted beside the group easily.
“Plug the tunnels with mushrooms,” said Sir Eldrick.
Brannon stopped, and the others covered him. He found a good-sized mushroom growing from the side of the tunnel and spoke his words of floral magic. The mushroom swelled, glowing brighter as it did so. Soon it was so large that it filled the tunnel, bulging like raised dough.
“That should slow them down,” he said, admiring his work.
“Good,” said Sir Eldrick as they got going once again. “Do that every few hundred yards or so.”
They ran through the dimly lit tunnels, and Brannon set his barriers while Murland checked the water compass. They were still heading in the right direction, though they had been forced to go either right or left at many junctions. It seemed that so far, they had gotten lucky, for none of the tunnels brought them back around, and none of them were dead ends. They seemed to be going up at a slight angle as well.
A half hour later they stopped so that Brannon could grow another barrier, and Sir Eldrick took a knee. Willow was out of water, but enough of it dripped down from places along the tunnel walls for her to get a good drink.
“They keep getting louder,” said Murland.
“They must be on our scent,” said Sir Eldrick, and Brannon glanced at Willow with a raised brow.
“We’re going to have to face them sooner or later,” said the ogre.
“That may be so, but I would rather face them on the surface. Not here on their turf. Come on, with any luck, it won’t be far. Already the air is more pleasant. We must be close.”
The group continued through the tunnels with renewed vigor. For it was true, the air was becoming lighter and less stuffy than it had been closer to the city. The sounds of the mole men continued to grow, and Murland readied a fire spell
just in case.
“Never mind that,” said Sir Eldrick. “You go ahead with Packy and see what is in store for us.”
“Got it,” said Murland, and he urged Packy into the air. The ceiling of the tunnel was just short of eight feet, for Willow had to duck in places. But Packy maneuvered through the cramped space easy enough, and soon Murland and the backpack disappeared.
Brannon stopped and grew three mushrooms this time. With his hand to the stone, Sir Eldrick determined that the horde was less than a hundred yards away. So once again, the group dug deep and ran up the slight incline, daring to hope the surface was close.
To their dismay, the tunnel went on and on, and soon the mole men would be upon them.
“The beasts are tireless,” said Brannon as he stopped to once again create a living barrier.
Sir Eldrick leaned against the stone, panting. He was about to say something, but he trailed off, staring at the stone.
“Looks like your wheels are turning,” Willow noted.
“What? Oh, yes,” said Sir Eldrick. “I was thinking, just maybe…” He unsheathed his fae blade, faced the stone, and stabbed the glowing sword into it at an angle. To his surprise, and surely everyone else’s, the sword pierced the stone as if it were butter. He cut out a seven-foot-wide circle with the sparkling blade, causing liquid stone to pool on the floor. He did so at a steady angle, hoping to create a cone.
“What in the world are you doing?” said Brannon, glancing back down the tunnel worriedly.
Sir Eldrick ignored him and carefully pulled out the sword. He stepped back, and to his relief, the cone began to slide out.
“Get on this side!” he told the others.
Brannon and Willow hurried to his side as behind them, the seven-foot-wide cone slid out and tumbled against the tunnel wall.
“Good thinking,” said Willow. She spit on her hands, rubbed them together, and took hold of the edges of the stone cone, positioning it so that it nearly plugged up the tunnel completely.
“Alright, let’s hope that holds for a while,” said Sir Eldrick.
The Legend of Drak'Noir Page 18
