Secrets of the Elders Kindle Version

by David Matthew Almond

  “Whatcha be wanting wanderers?” he barked.

  Bipp raised his finger ready to answer when one of the soldiers overhead jubilantly interrupted him. “Blimey, it’s none other than Brillfilbipp Bobblefuzz himself, back from the dead!”

  The rampart overhead filled with a gleeful commotion at the news, two of the soldiers even dropped their spears, breaking into a merry jig twirling around each other with one arm locked in the others elbow. The third clapped his thick hands excitedly, carelessly dropping his spear to join in, the tip of it landing firmly in the ground between Logan’s feet. The gatekeeper roared with laughter, throwing the switch and opening the massive stone gates outward.

  Bipp looked to Logan, down to the spear by his feet, then back up in embarrassment, and gave a nervous chuckle. “Sorry about that… the boys can get a little excitable at times.”

  Logan just shrugged, letting the gnome know it was no problem. No sooner had they passed through the gates than a small crowd of nearby gnomes came scurrying over to greet Bipp. Walking through the streets, they were swarmed by the little people, each making sure to greet Bipp, welcoming him home with pats on the back and questions followed by more questions. The children were the worse of the lot, but several women also assaulted his friend with kisses, some more passionately than others. It would seem he was quite the lady’s man, especially now that his story had spread through the town.

  It went a little like this; farmer Torkin ran back into town to alert the watch that Bipp fought off a ten-foot roc-bat that was trying to steal their crops. He was said to have battled the creature, like a classic hero of gnomish myth, when another twice its size swooped out of the air to carry him away. Apparently, Bipp bravely fought the bat hundreds of feet high up in the air shouting, “For Thorgar’s glory!” before disappearing into the wilds, forever lost to his people.

  Bipp laughed heartily at the ridiculous nature of the tale, currently being retold by the town barber. Although, Logan noted even though his friend did not confirm the story to be true, he also did not go out of his way to deny it either. He looked to be having so much fun with all the attention that Logan could hardly fault him for it, especially after all the white lies he had told over the years. While the gnomes of Dudje were surely excited and merry to have Bipp back among them, there were also many distrustful looks thrown Logan’s way. Even after Bipp’s retelling of the capture and rescue from the cannibal’s camp, most of the cheers were oddly aimed the gnome’s direction, celebrating a fictional daring-do-whether tale they preferred of his escaping.

  Not that Logan really minded, as entranced as he was by the architecture of this town. Once they were past the gates, the road was paved with cobblestones, breaking into elaborately carved slate steps with metal crafted railings that were fashioned in the shapes of slithering snakes and dragons, their scales serving a dual purpose of aesthetics and as a textured grip. The town was built upon stone hills with roads winding up and down, curving around higher and higher to the tops of small rounded peaks. All along the charming roads were strange structures. They were not like the wooden cabins he grew up in or the buildings in Fal, which were carved from the very rock of the original mountain his ancestors had settled. The buildings of Dudje were made of brick and something Bipp called plaster. The sides of some held large iron wheels attached to old pipes entering and leaving the structures, creating a network that attached them all together. When he asked, Bipp whispered that they were for the “plumbing” which he found somewhat gross to think about, why would anyone want to relieve themselves in their home? Even more interesting, the houses were built on top of each other, like stacked piles of books set at odd angles.

  One shop sold radishes from a squat rectangular building, to the side of which, iron rung steps spiraled to a home cropping out from the rooftop below that was tall and narrow. Most of the area was covered with a type of sphagnum moss, which was apparently fantastic for growing flowers, and attracted plenty of small cave finches of all colors. Another spectacle he had never seen were the colorfully spotted mushrooms that dotted the landscape of neighborhoods and shops, some with wooden swings hanging from them, or small gnomish children kicking a ball on top. The town was truly awe inspiring with its merry residents and brightly lit streets.

  The deeper they made it into Dudje, the less the town folk swarmed them, until they were finally left walking side by side with only a handful of Bipp’s friends and one woman who stared at him with a sparkle in her eyes. During their travels, he told Logan much of Clara, whom he had been chasing after for years now. Logan guessed the heroic tales of farmer Torkin swayed her to see what she had been missing all these years.

  “We are almost at the town hall!” Bipp proudly exclaimed. Logan did feel a bit uneasy at the upcoming meeting with Mayor Fimbas. If it went well he would have a home again, but there was that lingering doubt that his request would be denied.

  The rounded building that was the town hall stuck out of the scenery like the top of some buried Elder’s bald head, considerably larger than the stacks of homes surrounding it. The place was carved from a single massive block of stone, and looked like it would withstand the ages right up until the end of time. The gray structure was flecked with mushroom-capped domes, and jutting guard towers rested all around it. At the top of a long series of steps, two statues of massive basilisks sat on either side of the entrance, as if left by the gods to guard the place for eternity.

  The retinue quieted to a respectful murmur once inside the hall. High above Logan’s head a grand fresco decorated the rounded ceiling, and the interior of the structure was lined with finely carved cherry wood walls. Another set of wooden doors, again taller than Logan, sat closed in front of them at the end of a bright crimson carpet where the hallway arched around the center of the building’s inner circle, dotted with alcoves that each showcased marble statues of different ancient kings and heroes of myth. A group of heavily armored gnomes blocked the group’s path, spears pressed together to form a barricade. Their leader folded his thick hairy arms over a chest of chainmail, with animal skins poking out from the sleeves, and glowered at them under a conical helmet that covered the top of his large head.

  “Falians are not allowed in the chamber, Bipp, you know better.” The scruffy looking gnome informed Bipp, from beneath his wildly unkempt salt and pepper beard, and frayed eyebrows.

  “Rest easy Grubblefrop, this here is a good friend of mine, saved me from some cannibals looking to make themselves a gnome sammich.” Bipp merrily informed the man.

  “I don’t care if’n King Ul’krin himself stepped out of the grave and escorted the man here, only Mayor Fimbas himself can give the order for entry to the human. And ye got a better chance of seeing me dance a jig than that happening.” Grubble growled, the scars on his face twitching. Bipp moved to protest but the gnome scowled at him with black pupils, shooting Logan a dirty look, as if his very presence offended the warrior.

  “It’s okay, Bipp, I’ll wait right here, you go on in and talk with the Mayor.” Logan calmed his friend, who was getting red in the face.

  Bipp cooled off quickly, winking at Logan to signal it was only a ploy. “Fine Grubblefrop, but my friend is staying right here in the hall.” He compromised.

  “Aye, all the better for me to keep an eye on the human, anyhow.” Grubble replied, throwing him a nasty look.

  As the Bipp approached the massive doors, Logan was amused to see a smaller four-foot portal swing inward from the center. When it shut, not even the trace of an outline could be seen.

  Hours trickled past slowly in the great curved hallway, as Logan could only pace back and forth, patiently waiting for his friend to come out. The entire time the warriors watched him warily, with Grubble not even trying to hide his look of disdain. Echoes of conversation inside the chamber could be heard, but the words themselves were too muffled to make out.

  A bell gonged from the roof of the building, announcing the time for second
supper had arrived. The soldiers took turns pulling out small parcels filled with candied mushrooms, potato stews, and other richly smelling foods, while the rest kept their vigil over Logan, daring him to try some human trickery. Finally, the small wooden door opened outward once more, catching one of the guards by surprise and knocking him face first into his companion’s stew.

  “Send in the human.” Boomed a voice from the inner chamber, leaving Grubblefrop with an expression of bewilderment, as the blood sickly drained from his face and he began frantically looking from the open doorway to Logan repeatedly.

  A cocky smiled spread across Logan’s face as he strutted past the rude little warriors, teasing. “Guess you owe me that jig, huh?” Inside, the antechamber was much smaller than he could have anticipated, the ceiling dropped down and this round room was dotted with doorways to other offices. Book-lined shelving circled half the room and the floor was covered with a large cherry red rug woven with patterns of flowers and mushrooms.

  A large gnome, being roughly four feet, which for his race was big indeed, sat behind a long desk, built from walnut wood, a very rare material in Vanidriell. He sat perched in a tall, stately chair, which was lined with a matching cherry red, plush fabric, wearing a golden circlet around his head, set with a flawless polished emerald, which matched his thick mossy-green hair and muttonchops. Strange thin swirling lines that danced in patterns adorned his forehead and cheeks that were neither painted on nor scars. Bipp’s smiling head popped around one of the seats facing the desk, and he happily motioned for Logan to come sit beside him.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Mayor Fimbas.” Logan tried to sound as respectful as possible, but the gnome bristled up at him.

  “We do not speak until the mayor allows us.” Bipp whispered, explaining the man’s ire.

  “Did not think to teach the Falian the proper decorum of court Brillfilbipp?” the mayor complained in a gruff voice, to which the little gnome could only reply with a shrug and an innocent smile.

  “Falian, I have heard of your deeds to rescue the good engineer, Brillfilbipp Bobblefuzz. For this you have the gratitude of Dudje.” Although he was brimming inside to hear the praise, Logan smiled and bowed his head to try to convey he was humbled by the man’s words.

  “Bipp here has brought the matter of your living arrangements to the attention of this office, petitioning to allow you a place among our people.” The mayor said, prompting Bipp to punch his friend’s forearm and wiggle his eyebrows in delight.

  “The request has been denied.” Fimbas stated flatly. Logan felt like someone had punched him in the gut, feeling his stomach churn and bubble sickly at the news. “You may speak now.”

  “I don’t understand, Mayor, from what I saw walking through town it looks like there is more than enough room here for me and surely Bipp can attest to my honorable intentions. Is it a matter of earning my keep, there has to be plenty I could do for you?” Logan desperately tried to steer the mayor’s decision, already sick at the thought of being kicked back out into the wilds of Vanidriell to fend for himself.

  “The bottom line here is that we do not know you. All we do know is that you are a Falian.” The mayor’s response confused Logan further.

  “Ah, I see our little engineer has not told you. Please you must pardon his mistake. You see, it is easy for us to forget just how short human lives are. You see, Falians are forbidden in the town of Dudje, as they are in most of the settlements of Vanidriell.” He explained.

  “To be honest, Mayor, just a few weeks ago I had no idea other settlements even existed in the wild lan… er... in Vanidriell. All my life we have only ever heard of New Fal and our neighbor kingdom, Malbec.” Logan tried to get the mayor to see his point of view, hoping the man would explain more.

  “Typical Falian arrogance… to teach that anything outside their stolen kingdom is nothing more than wild lands. I do not fault you this ignorance lad, it was bred into you.” Fimbas casually laid the insult at his feet.

  “Please Mayor… I do not know what the people of New Fal did to earn such hatred. Being an outcast of the kingdom myself, it is only with good intentions that I come before you.” Logan stated.

  “This was mentioned earlier. Tell me more about becoming an exile.” Fimbas prompted him. While Logan retold the story of his journey to Fal, warning the city and fighting off the insect horde, the man looked quite bored. Though when he came to the part about meeting Mr. Beauford, the mayor perked up in interest and his face grew heavy indeed to learn that the goodly gnome was murdered, listening intently to the tale of the ebony skinned assassin. Once his story was over the mayor sat there in silence, slowly turning the rings on his chubby fingers.

  “That is quite the yarn you have knitted, Logan Walker of Riverbell. How do I know you are telling the truth of it?” Fimbas broke the silence.

  “I could ask the same of you in a different way, why did you invite me into your chamber without taking away any of my weapons, knowing I could easily jump across this desk and murder you? The answer is simple, because you trust in Bipp, who trusts in me, a mutual feeling that we have both earned. You bring me in here to toy with me, knowing you are not going to let me stay, yet teasing me with hope. What reason could I possibly have to lie?” Bipp widened his eyes both at his friend’s words, well intentioned as they were, and at Mayor Fimbas who was rumbling with laughter.

  “That question reveals your youth, and the deep disconnect between human and gnome thinking, lad. I can see you truly believe the idea of lying over this would be absurd which gives me a glimmer of optimism that perhaps there is still hope for the humans of New Fal after all. Then again, most likely not, since they chased you out, eh? As for being defenseless, are you really foolish enough to believe I would allow such a thing?” The gnome directed his attention around the ceiling where dozens of miniature crossbows were held steady, through circular portholes, pointed at Logan’s seat.

  “Mayor, I did not mean to...” Logan tried to explain his statement.

  “Don’t worry lad, I know you were not threatening me, and I see the truth in you. Something my great uncle Beauford no doubt saw as well, otherwise why would he have taken you under his wing in such a short time?” The news of Mr. Beauford being related to this great gnome, who ruled an entire town, threw Logan even more off guard than the knowledge that dozens of bolts were pointed at his head.

  “Mayor Fimbas, I had no idea you were related to Mr. Beauford. Sir… there was one other task my friend charged me with before dying.” He awkwardly began, not sure how to proceed. Logan reached into his vest to pull out the pendant he had been keeping safely tucked away beside his heart and presented it across the desk to the mayor, who grew wide eyed and sucked in his breath. Fimbas held the teardrop shaped jewel before his eyes in awe and overhead he could hear the gnomes whispering excitedly. “I swore to Beauford I would get this to his family and am humbled to know the task has been completed.”

  The mayor eyed him as if he had forgotten the man was in the room. Putting the pendant in his own jacket pocket, the gnome tapped a finger to his lips studying Logan, as if seeing him in a different light. “It is very interesting though, your tale. What I am sure you are not aware of is the fact that my great uncle was not only a wealthy merchant in Fal, but also, and long before he settled with the humans, a famous Seer.”

  “What is a seer, sir?” Logan asked.

  “Not a seersir, a Seer, it’s like a prophet, means he often divined the future.” Fimbas explained.

  “Kind of like a fortune teller?” Logan asked.

  “Not in the same way you mean it, with scarves and cards, this is less a telling, more of a glimpse. Beauford was never known for being overly open to strangers. Him taking you into his employment, not even knowing you, that rings of something from ages ago to me.” Fimbas thought aloud, trying to grasp a memory that made sense in this context.

  “Are you saying he saw Logan in a divination?” Bipp asked, sp
arking the bridge in the man’s mind.

  The mayor threw a cross look at him for interrupting his train of thought, even though it had helped form the connection he was trying to grasp. Slamming his fist down, Fimbas stood up and circled the desk, motioning for the pair to follow. Grumbling across the room, he thumbed across a shelf of dusty tomes until he found what he was looking for. Flipping through the worn volume, titled “Divinization’s of the Fourth Age by Beauford Bomble, the mayor found the page and tapped at an entry.

  “Yes, yes, here it is, I remember coming across this when I was a wee lad.” He read on.

  ‘In the waning month of Farl,

  Triumphant, our engineer will reappear.

  The Walker curved to the path of truth,

  Following the emerald snake north,

  Thus will begin the Fourth Age of Acadia.’

  “What does it mean?” Logan asked, puzzled to form a connection.

  “Beauford himself would only know the answer to that question and he ain’t around no more, eh? Whatever it did mean, he found it important enough to warn you to go searching for the truth and set you on a path that would lead to my very doorstep with his dying breath.” Fimbas reasoned.

  “What else does it say?” Bipp eagerly asked.

  “Nothing more, some information about crops, marriages, births, etc. Wasn’t like my great uncle walked around spitting major events day in day out, but he did reference the Walker. I remember this because it was one of his last entries before suddenly packing up and leaving Dudje to set up his shop on New Fal. At the time, everyone thought he had lost his wits and the scrying had turned him mad, but not my da. He always said if Great Uncle Beauford did something, there was a good reason behind it… and now I think that motive’s finally understood. This could be nothing more than a faint glimpse into your future.” Fimbas explained.