by Tod Davies
“Father of Lies,” a soft voice said. “Father of Lies from the beginning.” It was Tuxton. Snotty saw a stern look on his plush face.
“I beg your pardon?” said Luc, plainly startled. He recovered his poise right away. “Snotty,” he said in a haughty tone—the kind of voice that Snotty had once admired and tried to imitate—“Snotty, perhaps you’d introduce me to your friends.”
Snowflake stepped up beside Tuxton and pawed at the ground with one silver hoof. “There have been times,” Snowflake said gravely, “when the Weak have conquered the Strong, oh, Prince! There have been many such times.”
“Excuse me,” Luc said. It was obvious he was very angry indeed. “Do I KNOW you?”
Tia, Fia, Fion, Mion, Melia and Lui came forward now, and Melia spoke for them all in a clear, high voice. “You know us, Son of the Morning. You have fought us many times. Many times have we fought and many times have we won. But we disdained to trumpet our Triumph, resting instead with Truth.”
Luc looked at them with disgust. “What gibberish,” he complained. “What vulgarity. How very unscientific, too. Honestly, where do they get this kind of thing? And in the modern world. It’s a scandal.” He gave a fastidious flick of the fingers to a bit of fluff on his elegant clothes. “This kind of thing won’t be allowed when you and I are in charge, eh, Snotty?”
Snotty, who had been watching Tuxton and Snowflake and the Girl Bears, turned back to Luc now. “About that being in charge, Luc,” he said. “What does that mean? Exactly?”71
Luc, his good humor now restored, draped his arm around Snotty’s shoulders as the two walked past the saluting Gnomes. “Well, Snotty, of course it means being at the top, and making sure everyone underneath does exactly what they’re told.”
“And when there are rebellions, we put them down,” Snotty said.
“Of course,” Luc said. “It’s our duty.”
“Then we tell the rebels—the Weak—what to do.”
“Absolutely. It’s amazing how little the Weak understand of what is truly good for them.”
“So would you say then,” Snotty continued in a casual way, “that we need the Weak—the ones at the bottom—more than they need us?”
Luc stopped and stared. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, if we’re going to be conquerors...if we’re going to be on the top...doesn’t there have to be something to be conquered? Somebody? Doesn’t there have to be somebody on the bottom? If we’re the Strong, don’t we need to have the Weak?”
“Of course,” Luc said, an icy glint in his eye.
“So we have to have them. We need the Weak. But it seems to me, Luc, that the Weak don’t need us. If the Weak disappear, then so do we, the Strong,” he went on to explain. “But if the Strong disappear, well, then, the Weak can just go back to minding their own business. They can get on with things. Which means,” he said thoughtfully, “that the Weak are stronger than the Strong. If you get my meaning.”72
Luc looked at him haughtily. “No I don’t,” he said in an ice-cold voice. “It seems to me you’ve missed the main point. The Weak want to conquer US.”
“Do they, Luc?” Snotty asked.
“Doesn’t everyone, Snotty?” Luc said. He raked the Teddy Bear Army with a look of disdain.
“No,” Snotty said almost with regret. He remembered what it was like in the Mountains, in the Teddy Bear Camp. “No, I don’t think everybody does want to conquer what there is to be conquered.” He took a deep, deep breath.
“I don’t want to, myself,” he said. “It’s just a great big waste of time. I don’t want to be Snotty the Sun God—not anymore. I just want to be...myself.”
As Snotty said this, he changed into Lily once and for all. Snotty gave up being the Sun God for good. This took nerve. But Snotty was, always, a brave boy.
That was the end of Snotty the Sun God’s story.
But it was the beginning of Lily’s.73
At this, a shout went up from among the Gnomes.
“Look!” the Large Gnome cried.
“Stop them!” the Medium Gnome bawled.
“Oh, NO!” the Small Gnome squealed.
All across the desert, the Teddy Bear Army turned, one by one, into a bunch of lifeless Toys.
“NOOOO!” the Small Gnome squeaked again, running among them, giving one a buffet here, and kicking another one there, as if to get them to turn back. But none of the Toys did more, now, than fall on their sides and lie there. They couldn’t stand upright on their own, much less fight.
The Gnome Army was now in disarray. The discipline of the troops disappeared, evaporating in their terror at the nonexistence of the enemy. Panic spread. Gnome Soldiers fled in all directions.
Snowflake became a pretty little rocking horse, and the Dog pranced about wanting to play as the Gnomes ran over each other in their hurry to retreat.
“Snotty!” Luc shouted over the melee. “Rally the troops!” To the fleeing Gnomes, he shouted, “Your Sun God commands you! Stop!”
But there was no more Sun God. And Lily stayed where she was.
“Snotty!” Luc said angrily. “Remember who you are!”
“Oh yes,” Lily said. “I do.”
“Then order them to stop!”
Lily looked at Luc, then turned back to where the stuffed animals lay tumbled about in the desert sun. “I don’t think they would listen to me,” she said briefly, and then she went to a stuffed Tuxton, who had fallen on his snout in the sand. Bending over the silly looking stuffed Bear, Lily wiped the dirt off his muzzle and sat him upright.
Meanwhile, the Gnome Army disappeared. Only Luc and Lily were left. Luc stood there, staring with chagrin at the horizon over which his departing Army had fled. Lily ignored him.
“Very good, girl,” he said after a moment’s reflection. He brought his hands together in ironical applause. “Excellent strategy. Hide your strength and live to fight another day! Allow me to congratulate you.”
“Thanks,” Lily said shortly. She continued seating Tia, Fia, Fion, Mion, Melia and Lui in a lopsided cluster. Lui kept falling over. There was too much stuffing in her pants.
“This simply increases my admiration for you, and my determination to make you my friend and colleague,” Luc insisted. He seemed flustered—not quite as smooth as before. “We must have you at the High Table!”
The moment Luc said this, there it was: the High Table. The Great and the Good sat at its shiny mahogany surface, candlelight bouncing off silver and crystal, wood paneling behind them crawling partway to the sky. They were all there: the Military Men, a President, a Prime Minister, one or two Emperors, a Rock Star, and a Pope. They discussed the future of the Universe in the same serious sounding murmurs Lily had heard, as Snotty, in the Fortress of the Gnomes. There was one empty seat among them. In front of that empty seat was a place card stuck in a silver holder shaped like a swan. And that place card said, in calligraphic twirls: SNOTTY.
Lily was unimpressed. “Tried that one already, didn’t you, Luc?” she said.
“Oh,” Luc said hastily. “Sorry.” When Lily looked again, the place card read “LILY” instead.
“How about it?” Luc said. Lily could hear him try not to whine.
“No, thanks,” she said flatly. She turned her back on him again.
“Nonsense,” Luc said in an over-hearty tone. “You’ve seen what you can do. You can command armies! And you’re going to waste your talents on THESE?” At which he kicked Tuxton back over onto his snout in the sand.
Lily righted Tuxton. “You just don’t get it, Luc, do you?” she said.
“What’s that?” Luc said. She didn’t answer. Snapping his fingers, he summoned up the Gnome Army. It appeared now as quickly as it had disappeared before. The Gnomes waited silently, waving their halberds and their scythes.
Lily looked them up and down. She looked Luc up and down. Luc’s beautiful mouth twitched slightly as she did.
“So long, Luc,” Lily said, and she turned awa
y again, tucking the stuffed Tuxton up under one arm.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Luc snapped. “Where can you possibly go?”7”
Lily shrugged. Carrying Tuxton, she walked away.
“I won’t allow it,” Luc said.
At this, Lily stopped. “YOU won’t allow it?” she said, and she gave a short laugh. “That’s a good one.” She spun around and gave Luc one last look in the eye. “You were looking for me, weren’t you?” she said softly. Her expression was bright with understanding. “All of them, all of this fighting, was just to keep me away from THEM.” Her arm swept over the silent ranks of stuffed toys.
Luc made no answer.
“That’s what I thought,” Lily said.
But Luc wasn’t finished yet. As history shows, in fact, he is never finished. He turned himself into a hundred foot tall fire-breathing Monster again, and blew a roaring stream of fire across Lily’s path. “If you will not be for me,” he thundered, and his voice shook the sky, “then you must be against me! SNOTTY! YOU! MUST! FIGHT!”
The Gnome Army goose-stepped in perfect formation, marching ever closer. The ground shook.
I’m not sure their hearts were in it, not really. Not even Luc’s. Luc and his Gnome Army were just like anyone else, after all, in needing some kind of response, some kind of acknowledgement in order to keep going on in the same old way. And Lily’s bored expression stopped them in their tracks.
Because Lily was right. In the end, the Weak are stronger than the Strong. Strange as it might seem, that is the way it has always been, and always will be, too.
Luc didn’t know what to do. Making himself bigger didn’t work. Neither did making himself louder, or grander, or even more terrifying. Yet these were the tricks that had won him all his battles for centuries past. Was he to change his tactics this late in the game? It didn’t bear thinking of.
“Aren’t you through YET?” Lily said coldly, as Luc breathed out clouds of red and violet steam through eight pairs of waving ivory tusks.
It was the last straw. With an aggrieved whine, Luc exploded into a shower of light, shattering into a thousand pieces, and scattering himself down to the desert floor.
As each piece of light touched one of the stuffed Toys, that Toy came back to life.
Snowflake and the Dog returned to their old selves.
Tia, Fia, Fion, Mion, Melia and Lui did cartwheels from joy at being able to move.
Tuxton wriggled down from Lily’s arms. He pointed to the still advancing Grand Army of Gnomes. “Look!” he said in his high-pitched voice.
The Gnomes slowly froze where they stood. As Lily and the others watched, they turned into a ridge of granite, lining every horizon but the one taken up by the Mountains of Resistance. There the Gnomes turned to ash. A breeze blew the pale white stuff away.74
“HOORAY!” the Teddy Bear Army cheered. “Snotty saved the day! Snotty saved the day!”
“But...but I’m not Snotty!” Lily protested as Tia, Fia, Fion, Mion, Melia and Lui hoisted her on their shoulders. “I’m Lily!”
Still they all cheered her: “HOORAY FOR SNOTTY! HOORAY FOR SNOTTY! SNOTTY SAVED THE DAY!”
“Tuxton!” Lily yelled from where she bounced on the plush shoulders of her friends. “Tell them! It wasn’t Snotty! It was me, Lily!” When this appeared to have no effect, she yelled as loudly as she could, “I’M LILY!”
At this, everyone was still. So quiet were they, in fact, that Lily could hear the wind as it bore away what was left of the ashes of the Gnomes.
Tuxton looked up at Lily with an earnest expression on his silly face. “But Lily,” he said. “We KNOW that.”
There was a pause.
“Well,” Lily said finally, correcting herself. “I was Snotty, too, after all.” And then, grudgingly, “He was okay, I guess.”
At this a huge cheer went up. “HOORAY!” shouted the Teddy Bear Army as it surged forward. Lily fell backwards onto countless plush arms. “HOORAY! HOORAY! HOORAY!” And carrying Lily onto the Path of Care, all the Teddy Bears, and Snowflake, and the Dog stomped their feet and sang.
Everyone was as happy as it was possible for them to be. Because— of course—now was the time for a Teddy Bear Feast.75
Chapter XXIII
A STARRY NIGHT
It was an excellent feast.
A picnic, of course, on the Meadow, in the Mountains, next to the Stream. A picnic is the best kind of feast when it’s a warm summer’s night.
At sunset, everyone was tired out, what with eating the many good things grilled on the giant celebration bonfire: the eggplant, the zucchini, the tomatoes, the onions, and the corn. There was hot apple cider and creamy hot chocolate for afterwards, and Tia, Fia, Fion, Mion, Melia and Lui entertained everyone with balalaika music, which they played very well and which was especially pleasant to listen to under the evening sky.
Mercy and Justice were there with another woman, older than them but even more beautiful. The two younger women treated her with the greatest respect. This was Truth, the Daughter of Time, and she was enjoying herself with her old friends. Lily was fascinated by the three women and wanted to speak to them. But she was shy and decided to wait for morning. “So much already happened today, what with withstanding the Forces of Evil and all.” And she was happy sitting with Snowflake and the Dog and Tuxton—so happy that she never wanted the evening to end.
Then night fell, as night always does. Before the moon came up, the sky filled with a million stars.
One by one, the Teddy Bears yawned, stretched, and lay themselves out on pallets on the cool, springy grass of the meadow. One by one they fell asleep. Even Mercy and Justice, sitting with Truth, drowsed as Tia, Fia, Fion, Mion, Melia and Lui finished their last song and lay down for the night. Truth herself, who never sleeps, closed her eyes, and rested in her own deep thought.
All of the Toys and Animals and People yawned, falling asleep, one by one, under the brilliantly starry sky.
Just one bonfire was left, a small one, and that was the one around which sat the Dog, and Tuxton, and Snowflake, who nuzzled his head under Lily’s arm. They drank steaming mugs of hot chocolate and whipped cream. The Dog lapped up his drink from a wide-mouthed bowl.
Tuxton toasted Lily. She ducked her head, embarrassed. But grinning shyly, she toasted him in return.
Lily yawned. She wanted to stay awake. She wanted to discuss the amazing events of the day, and to make plans. What would they do now, all of them? What brave and noble goals could they hope to achieve? What would they... what would they... what would they... what would they...
Lily tried to stay awake. But she had tired herself out enough, and, sliding into a well-earned rest, she put down her empty chocolate mug on the rush mats beside her, curled up on a blanket at Snowflake’s side, and fell asleep.
Days have to come to an end. That’s the way it is with them. And even heroes have to sleep sometime.
In the sky, with the rising of the moon, came one Star that even the moon’s light couldn’t withstand. This Star was more brilliant than all the others, and it blotted out the rest with its light.
Tuxton and the Dog and Snowflake, now the only ones awake in the whole of the sleeping camp, sat together in companionable silence. Every so often, Tuxton would stoke the fire. These were the only ones who saw the star. Tuxton pointed at it, quiet. The Dog, troubled, gave a quick nod. Snowflake said and did nothing, only gazed at it, steady, with his jewel-colored eyes.
This Star was more brilliant than all the others, and it blotted out the rest with its light.
They listened, for a moment, in the mountain silence.
Then they heard it. The distant flapping of wings.
As the Star came closer and closer, the sound, too, grew louder.
Snowflake’s emerald eyes never left it, but the Dog exchanged a look with the silly-faced Bear. Both turned and looked at Lily, who lay sleeping by the fire. The Dog moved as if to guard her. The Star came closer and closer. Tuxton jumped up,
too.
As the Star came into sight, the sound was explained. For she was an Angel. She was a beautiful, golden-brown skinned Angel, with sleek and shining black hair, deep black eyes, and delicate, pointed ears. She was well known to the three by the fire. They looked at her anxiously. As she landed on her light and graceful feet, Tuxton greeted her for them all.
“Star,” Tuxton squeaked. “Hello, welcome.” His voice sounded anxious, even to him, though he tried to keep it from seeming that way.
Star smiled at them all, warming her hands by the fire. Lily breathed evenly and smiled in her sleep. Still the three did not relax—Snowflake never took his eyes off the Angel, and Tuxton and the Dog exchanged uneasy looks. They shifted back and forth on their paws.
After a moment, the Angel straightened, as if she were going to do now what she had meant to all along. Her wings, which had folded when she landed, opened out now back to their full and glorious width. And she bent to gather Lily up in her arms.
“I was afraid of that,” Snowflake said in a quiet voice, and a crystal teardrop fell from his eyes onto the meadow grass where it lay sparkling in the light from Star’s eyes.
Tuxton just squeaked. “Does she...does she have to go, Star?” the Bear said in a timid voice. He put a paw out as if to touch his sleeping friend, then let it drop.
“Tuxton,” Star said, and she smiled at the oddity of the name—she had known Tuxton by many different names in many different places and times, but of all of them, this was the silliest and the most endearing. “Tuxton, you know that all deeds done in one world affect all the others. You, of all creatures, know that well.”76
“Yes,” Tuxton said, still sad. “Of course I know that, Star.”
“And would you have it any other way?”
Tuxton and the Dog looked at each other, and there was a flash of a second where they might have said that, yes, they would have liked it to be another way. Any other way that would keep and hold this moment. But the feeling passed by, and Tuxton shook his head.
