Beyond the Moons

by David Cook

  “Unquenchable!” Niggil chortled, hopping from foot to foot. “Superb, because now we can fit the name on the side, which is something we were going to have to build another ship to do, but now —”

  “This is a wonderful advance for the Namer’s Guild, since now they won’t have to use the diving suits,” Snowball concurred, “and as a representative of the Doorkeeper’s Guild it is my duty to carry news of this great discovery —”

  “Do not be so eager,” Ilwar scolded with a frown. “I am not so certain about this proposal. There must be a committee established to study the ramifications these alterations will have upon the overall design —”

  From the other side of the room, Teldin coughed. “Excuse me, but what about the cloak?”

  Ilwar stopped the lecture of his fellows, stroked his beard once more, and looked at Teldin with annoyance. “I was saying something important. But since you have asked, I should think the answer is obvious. Since the cloak is not from Krynn, we assumed you would accompany us into space, where the cloak can be properly studied and tested, since all calculations and observations made on Krynn cannot be considered definitive, given the non-Krynn origins of —”

  “Accompany you where?” Teldin exclaimed. The mouths of Niggil, Broz, and Snowball all opened to have their say, but their de facto leader, the square-bearded one, silenced them again. The human walked to the window and looked at the wildly jury-rigged Unquenchable below. “You want me to fly into space on that?” he asked. “I don’t think so. I just want this cloak off so I can go back home and rebuild my life again.” Teldin knelt to look the gnomes in the eye. “Can you do that?”

  Ilwar raised an eyebrow. “Your life is not our affair, Teldin Moore of Kalaman, so you will have to rebuild your farm on your own.”

  “Do you insist?” Snowball asked, crestfallen. The gnome’s dreams of fame and importance were fast fading.

  “It seems such a shame —”

  “There’s so much we could learn,” scientific-minded Niggil added, pushing to the front. “It really does not seem as if you have the proper appreciation of your importance to …”

  Broz, as was his wont, said nothing.

  Teldin ignored them and focused on Ilwar, the most realistic-seeming of the group. “Please, just answer the question. Can you get the cloak off and keep me intact?”

  Ilwar looked thoughtful, Niggil avoided Teldin’s gaze, Broz stared back with sorrowful eyes, and Snowball fidgeted nervously. Finally the senior gnome said, “Of course, it is theoretically possible —”

  “Theoretically, but you don’t know?” Teldin pressed for clarification. The gnome nodded slightly, stroking his thick beard. “So you can’t take it off right now?” The gnome nodded again.

  “But if you were to accompany us aboard the Unquenchable,” Snowball interrupted, hoping to revive his dreams of glory, “we are certain to find the solution, and then all we need to do is build the machinery needed —”

  “A big machine!” Niggil added.

  “— to remove the cloak, and then you can go back home just like you wanted as soon as we land back on Krynn from our voyage,” concluded Snowball, triumphant at the obvious simplicity of his plan.

  Teldin retreated from the window and collapsed into a tiny chair, where he clutched his head in his hands. “Excuse me, good gnomes,” he mumbled toward the floor, “but I feel a terrible headache coming on. Can we continue this later?”

  Ilwar once again took command, pushing the other gnomes toward the door. “Of course, Teldin Moore of Kalaman. We will go set to work at once. Do not fear. We are certain to find an answer.” As the last of the other three left, Ilwar turned back toward the human. “I know it is hard to be so far from home,” the tinker sympathetically offered. “I traveled far in the wars, and there were many times when I only wanted to return to our mountain, so we will try very hard to help you go home if that is what you truly want.” The gnome ended his speech with a low bow and quickly left the chamber.

  Feeling a little less exasperated, Teldin watched as Gomja closed the door and leaned against it. The farmer was exhausted by the day’s grueling examinations and disappointments.

  “Peace, at last,” the lanky human sighed.

  “Yes, sir,” Gomja rejoined slowly. He crossed to the window and stated down at the Unquenchable with a pained look on his face. He finally turned away and stood stiffly, almost at attention. Teldin ignored the giffs curious mood as he sprawled across the small chair.

  Looking at the ceiling, his hands nervously twisting, Gomja finally ventured to speak. “Sir,” he began hesitantly, “what you told the gnomes, sir, about not going – did you really mean it?”

  Teldin cocked his head toward Gomja and answered with a yawn, “If they can get this cloak off, then I’m free of all this. I’ll go home and try to start over. There’ll be a lot to do before winter.”

  “But what will you do with the cloak, sir?” Gomja countered.

  Teldin sat up a little straighter, noticing the giffs extreme nervousness. “Leave it for the gnomes to study, I suppose. I haven’t had time to think about that.” Unconsciously, Teldin’s fingers began to drum on the arm of the chair. “Just what are you getting at?”

  Gomja swallowed. “Well, sir, it’s just like Astinus said. There are spelljammers here. And now, well, sir, I asked the gnomes for passage on the Unquenchable, for both of us, I mean.” Gomja’s voice stiffened, and he stood straighter. “I thought you would be coming along.”

  “And now I’m not,” Teldin finished.

  Gomja nodded affirmatively. “I have broken the chain of command, sir. Accordingly, you have the right to discipline me for this,” the giff said bravely.

  “Discipline?” Teldin echoed, surprised that Gomja even thought he was upset.

  “According to regulations, sir.” Gomja closed his eyes and recited from memory. “‘Unauthorized transfers shall be considered desertion of the third grade and are punishable by imprisonment not greater than 30 days, lashes not to exceed twenty —” Gomja’s voice shuddered — “and reduction in rank or grade, or such penalty as the commanding officer deems appropriate, not to exceed the severity of those listed.’”

  “You’re saying I’m supposed to punish you for asking to go home?” Teldin rose to his feet.

  “Yes, sir,” Gomja answered, his body still at attention. Teldin strolled to the window and rested his weathered hands on the sill. “And if I don’t?”

  Startled by the suggestion, Gomja broke his rigid demeanor to steal a glance at the human, who stood with his back to the giff. “That’s the way it’s done, sir,” he explained, his voice filled with confusion.

  “Hmmm,” Teldin mused, thinking over the curious request. Below him, a rope ferry towed a load of gnomes to the Unquenchable. Finally, Teldin turned back to the giff, who had resumed his rigid-backed and unmoving stance. “Private Herphan Gomja,” he began formally, “since you have admitted a minor infraction of regulations, I sentence you as follows: For the duration of our visit to Mount Nevermind, you are to prevent all gnomes in my presence from saying more than ten words at a single time unless I say otherwise.”

  Gomja’s mouth dropped open, and his ears twitched. “‘What, sir?”

  “Keep them from rattling on and on,” Teldin interpreted with a grin. “I think you’ll find it harder than it sounds. Now relax.”

  “Yes, sir,” acknowledged the bewildered giff. His shoulders abruptly drooped, his big chest sagged, and, with the lapse of tension, he finally breathed again.

  Teldin, prowling the room, stopped at a table and toyed with a gadget made of gears and pendulums suspended from a numbered dial. Accidentally touching a small switch, the cogs started to whir and the pendulums swung. The thing made an irregular ticking noise and, justifiably suspicious of any gnome invention, the farmer quickly set the device down. “You still want to leave, don’t you, Gomja?”

  Once again the giff hesitated. “Sir,” the giff eventually began, searching for
the words, “I request a transfer from our platoon to the crew of the Unquenchable. Will you approve it?”

  Teldin looked to the table, where the gnomish device still rattled and clicked. “We’re saying good-bye,” he said slowly. The farmer found himself reluctant to let the giff leave, even felt a twinge of sorrow at the prospect.

  “If you approve the transfer,” Gomja answered. “The gnomes will be leaving within the week. You’ve been a good commander, sir.” The giff offered gamely as he patted at his elven sword, “I’ve even earned a trophy or two.

  I’ve grown to like the big fellow, Teldin thought. Still, he knew he couldn’t keep the giff from his own people. “Once you leave, you won’t have a commander, you know,” Teldin pointed out.

  “There are the gnomes, sir.”

  “For your own sake, I wouldn’t want to see you under the command of any gnome. Are you ready to assume command?”

  Gomja’s face was solemn and concerned, and he answered, “If I must, sir, but I’ll only have myself to command.”

  “It’s not much of a platoon,” Teldin commented. “No, sir, but I won’t have to worry about mutiny.” Teldin chuckled at the joke. “You’ve changed since we first met.” The farmer held out his hand as an equal. The giff took it in his own, which dwarfed the human’s. “Very well, I approve the transfer. And as my last official act as your commander, I promote you.”

  The giff froze in mid-handshake and opened his mouth to protest, but Teldin cut him short by clenching down on the big fellow’s hand. “You can’t command a platoon without a rank. Congratulations, Sergeant Gomja.”

  The flustered giff stammered a reply. “Th – thank you, Commander. I think it’s rather irregular, though.” The giff unconsciously squeezed Teldin’s hand back until the farmer winced and wrenched his hand from the giff’s grasp. The giff was so overcome with the honor of his new rank that he didn’t notice.

  Teldin discretely shook out the pain, took Gomja by the elbow, and steered the giff toward the door. “Since you’re now an officer, I want to buy you a drink. Then we’d better find you a gnome tailor and see about getting a proper uniform.” Gomja, still dumbfounded, followed without protest.

  *****

  Night or day made little difference to the gnomes of Mount Nevermind. With few windows around the outside conical peak, most never saw the sun for hours, days, even weeks, at a stretch. Each gnome adopted his own pattern and schedule, comfortable for him – or herself, yet utterly impractical for everyone else. One slept while another worked and a third ate, all in the same quarters. Some of the agricultural engineers tended their terraced outdoor fields by the light of the moon while others enjoyed their breakfasts when the sun hung directly overhead. All this confusion and disorganization did not seem to matter one whit to the gnomes. They blissfully accepted the strange routines of their neighbors and adjusted their own schedules accordingly.

  For Teldin, though, it meant that within the dark heart of the mountain, the cacophony of deep-throated whistles, rippling bells, and gnashing gears continued unabated and the shafts through the rock throbbed with the jarring, unmusical rhythm of grotesque machines. In time, his senses dulled and he became immune to even the infrequent but distant explosions that belched from dark workrooms. Mount Nevermind never stopped doing something, but the human eventually found it necessary to collapse with exhaustion.

  Floating on these waves of noise, Teldin tried to sleep after his very long day. While Gomja seemed to have no problem falling into a deep, rumbling slumber, the constant thrumming kept Teldin awake, each change in pitch and rhythm rousing him just as he started to doze off. The giffs burbling snores only added to the racket. It had been difficult for Teldin to convince the gnomes that he and Gomja needed rest, but finally the little tinkers had arranged a room, deep in the heart of Mount Nevermind, for their use. Suspicious, lest the curious, scientific types – Niggil in particular – decide to attempt some nocturnal testing on his cloak, Teldin had locked the door carefully before retiring.

  Eventually, exhaustion overtook the farmer, though even in slumber there was no rest. Neogi, perhaps stirred by the turmoil of the mountain, lurked in Teldin’s dreams. The eel-like monsters paraded through Nevermind’s dark and unending halls, bloody trophies in the arms of their brutish umber hulk slaves; behind these came more of their malicious kind clutching vile treasures in their ridiculously tiny claws. Each neogi appeared before Teldin’s dream self, laying gruesome spoils at his feet. Struggling, the farmer tried to rise with the exaggerated care of a nightmare, but all his efforts came to naught.

  The charnel mound grew before him: Vandoorm’s bloodless, blue head, Liam’s body gutted and bound, a necklace made from Gomja’s hands and ears, and a bundle of gnome-skin cloaks. Old memories of flesh were added to the new: blubbery sheets of butchered dragon flesh, Knights of Solamnia frozen on the battle plain, their icy limbs thrust out at odd angles. Finally, the pyre of dead was taller than Teldin’s cabin, even in a dream. At its apex was the hacked and burned head of a dragon, again from the High Clerist’s Tower.

  Teldin’s dream irresistibly panned upward, lingering over each monstrosity of the bloody heap. Perched precariously atop the macabre pyre was a golden-skinned neogi, it’s loathsome, bulbous body covered with tattoos. The spiderlike legs gripped the fleshy mound. The creature glared malevolently down at Teldin. “Give me the cloak,” it hissed. A slender, snapping claw reached out and slowly grew longer, stretching toward the paralyzed human.

  Teldin awoke with a choked scream and his body tangled in the blankets. He shook his head, trying to drive the monstrous apparitions from the shadows of his mind. Breath came in quick pants as the farmer nervously unwound himself from the sweat-dampened covers.

  After straightening the blankets and fluffing his pillow, Teldin experimentally closed his eyes. Almost immediately the bloody procession filled his thoughts again, forcing the human to snap his eyes open once more. “No sleep for me,” he mumbled, trying to rub away the pressure building on his temples. The single wavering candle transformed the room into a dreary cavern. Gomja’s shadow became a hibernating bear. Teldin sat up, and he debated getting dressed. Unable to face sleep again, there was really nothing else to do.

  From beyond their room came a distant boom, like a peal of thunder, even deeper and more resonant than Gomja’s snores. Whatever it was, Teldin realized, it had triggered a whole clamor of alarms and whistles. Another invention gone wrong, the farmer concluded as he pulled his worn trousers over his long, lean legs.

  Teldin was fumbling with his shoes when frantic knocking began rattling their door. “Open up! Open up! Hurry! Wake up! We’re under attack!” shouted a high-pitched voice from the other side. Teldin could hear the scratching and jangling sound of someone fumbling with the lock. All at once, the tumblers caught and the door burst open.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Attackers have invaded the upper levels!” a frantic gnome shouted in a single breath as he charged into the room. Almost as fast as he had entered, the gnome hurried out, joining the stream of his fellows rushing through the hail, carrying an ad hoc collection of weapons. Teldin, half-dressed, sat stunned on the edge of his bed.

  The previously gloomy passage was awash with torchlight. A din of bells and whistles reverberated through the air while thundering booms rocked the floor. A delegation of gnomes, led by Snowball and Niggil, rushed through the open doorway. “We are under attack! Invaders in the upper levels! It is terrible! Come on, we have to go fight them!” shouted Snowball. Gomja practically sprang bolt upright on his bed at all the noise.

  “Slow down! What’s happening? Who’s invading and where?” Teldin demanded. He tried to pull on his shirt and buckle his belt at the same time. Gomja had already grabbed his weapons, ignoring his clothes for the moment.

  The doorkeeper began, his hands flying as he tried to pantomime the scene. “I do not know how many, but there seem to be quite a few, and they are killing people —”

>   “Quiet,” rumbled the giffs deep voice, authoritative in all the confusion. “Answer the commander’s question. “Where? Keep it short, gnome.” The dark, warlike look on Gomja’s face chilled any argument from the assembled tinkers. Teldin nodded his approval to Gomja.

  “Level thirty. They’re hovering over the lake in a big ship —”

  “Who’s attacking?” Gomja pressed, trying to extract precious information from the skittish lot. Teldin grabbed his spear and was ready.

  Snowball, Niggil, and the others looked at each other, confusion clear on their faces. “We do not know, but Thromvangilherskisl —” Snowball began a fellow gnome’s endless name, only to be cut short by Gomja’s growl. The gnome gulped and tried again. “He says there are big creatures with funny eyes and little, talking spiders with the heads of snakes, and they —”

  “It’s neogi and umber hulks,” Teldin confirmed. Gomja nodded. “The big ones, umber hulks, are the fighters. The little spiders are neogi, the brains,” the human quickly explained, seeing the gnomes’ vacant looks. For safety’s sake, he made sure the cloak was at its smallest dimensions, a collar about his neck.

  “Are you fighting or running?” the giff continued in his questioning.

  “Well, the Weapons Guild wants to test its new inventions, but those in the Shipbuilder’s Guild do not, because they are worried about the Unquenchable, and the Glass-blower’s Guild is too busy trying to move its works out of the way in time,” Snowball explained, pointing in a different direction to show where each group was working. Niggil grabbed his sleeve in violent disagreement. “No, the glassmakers are over there, not —”

  “It’s as I feared, sir,” Gomja said, stepping over to Teldin and not even bothering to listen to two gnomes. “No proper organization, no one seems to be in charge. Even if they are outnumbered, the neogi are certain to capture the upper levels – maybe the entire mountain – if this is all the resistance they meet.”