Beyond the Moons (28 page)

Finally the old elf set his empty glass down. It was dark outside and starlight showed through the windows. “By the trees of the wood, you may be young, but for an old one such as me, it is late. Go to the deck and leave my stuffy cabin so I may sleep. Daughter, I will see you in the morning.” Luciar waved the three – Teldin Gomja, and Cwelanas – toward the door. Cwelanas feebly protested, though Teldin suspected her attempts to dissuade her father were more out of politeness. Once she relented, the farmer, feeling the wine, rose and escorted Luciar’s daughter onto the deck.

Adeep lungful of fresh salt air revived him and Teldin was about to return to the bow when a soft hand touched his sleeve. “Come, join me on the afterdeck. I, too, have much to thank you for.” Cwelanas smiled shyly, embarrassed by her own boldness, and yet, without waiting for an answer, she took Teldin’s hand and led him to the stern. There she rested against the railing, watching the waning Solinari cast a thousand glittering crescents over the dark waves. Teldin stood beside her, watching the same scene and uncertain just what he should do or say. His wine-dimmed mind could not guess the elf’s full intention. Her purpose could be innocent or it could be filled with meaning, the farmer thought.

Finally the elf maiden turned to him and said, almost humbly, “Teldin, when you were first aboard, I saw you only as a … human.” Her tone made humans sound like things. “You know, I never liked humans. I mean, that is until now.” She stumbled, trying to think of just the right words. “I mean, I – I misjudged you and I am … more than just sorry.” Cwelanas hesitantly turned and leaned forward until her silvery hair brushed against Teldin’s cheek, then her mouth lightly touched his. Her warm breath moistened his lips. The elf maid’s hand lightly held Teldin’s arm, almost fearful that he might pull away.

Their kiss lingered, then finally broke. Flustered, Cwelanas suddenly looked away, her face red; her hands were tightly knotted together. Teldin himself could barely look at her, his own feelings a mixture of amazement, wonder, befuddlement, and ardor. Solinari’s glow barely outlined her trembling features.

“I misjudged you, also,” Teldin whispered, touching his hand to Cwelanas’s shoulder. Her gown’s thin fabric seemed to hover just above her trembling skin.

“When you are done at Mount Nevermind, Teldin Moore, if you need passage back, the
Silver Spray
might stop there again,” Cwelanas softly speculated without facing the human. She pulled away from him just a little, suddenly afraid to let herself get too close. When at last she turned back, there was a small tear welling in her eye. “If you come back, there is another who will welcome you to the House of Olonaes.” Cwelanas bit her lower lip at the boldness of her own words, then turned and hurried off the deck, disappearing into the cabins below.

Teldin did not follow her. He was stunned by the elf maid’s rapidly changing moods and his own feelings for her. He remained at the stern and watched Solinari slip closer to the water while ruddy Lunitari crept higher in the west. The farmer was in no hurry to go to the bow and the solid company of the giff, but preferred to linger with his memories of these last few ethereal moments. To the port side hung the dark peaks of Sancrist and, though somewhere among them was his goal, Mount Nevermind, Teldin wondered, just a little, if all this effort to get rid of a cloak was really worthwhile. He could stay here, aboard the
Silver Spray
, and never go home again.

Until the neogi arrived, he grimly remembered. That dark thought anchored the farmer once again to the pain of the real world. Teldin knew that someday the neogi would find him. Curiously, it was not for himself that he feared, but the others who might be with him – like Liam. With a sad, painful shrug, he forced back his sorrow and fear and made for the bow, where the giff already snored.

Chapter Seventeen

The next morning, davits creaked as the ship’s dinghy was hoisted over the side. Gomja worked the bow line, easily handling the job that four elves were struggling with aft. After a few thumps and bumps against the hull, the boat hit the water with a soft splash. A rope ladder uncoiled, and Teldin and Gomja followed several sailors down to the small rowboat. The water rose ominously as the heavy giff settled into a rowing seat.

From the deck above, Luciar and Cwelanas watched as the little boat shoved off. “They will take you to a landing the gnomes use,” the balding captain shouted in his thin voice to Teldin. “From there you should find a road to Mount Nevermind – I think. May good fortune and the gods smile upon you.” Cwelanas was silent, her good-byes had already been said, so she simply lifted a hand in farewell. Teldin watched her wave as the boat slowly cut through the water toward shore.

The
Silver Spray
was but a small shape in the bay when the ship’s boat finally bumped alongside the forlorn little pier that was Gnome’s Landing; The structure was little more than a few moldering pilings and a strange assemblage of booms loaded with pulleys and gears. The masts hung out over the reflecting water.

“Gnome work,” explained Galwylin, who had volunteered to row his human friend ashore. “It is supposed to unload cargo. I saw the little fellows try to use it once. An amplified mechanowindlass, they called it. They sank a boat like ours when their machine dropped an ox amidships.” Galwylin hoisted Teldin’s kit onto the pier. “Take care while you are with them. The gnomes have cunning hands, but little sense.”

The farmer nodded, slightly dumbstruck. The collection of wheels and spans brought home every description and caution Teldin had ever heard about gnomes. “Gnome work?” He clambered onto the dock. “As always, your advice is good, wise elf. I’ll be careful.” With an
oomph
, Teldin helped hoist Gomja up beside him. The giff had difficulty scrambling from the small boat onto the pier, and it was only with a fair amount of pulling and pushing that the bulky creature finally got ashore.

“May Habbakuk grant you a safe voyage to Ergoth and beyond,” Teldin said as the dinghy started to pull away.

“And a safe journey to you, Teldin Moore,” Galwylin called back. The crewmen threw their backs to the oars and quickly turned the dinghy toward the
Silver Spray
.

Teldin stood, watching them go, until there was nothing left to see. Gomja, already shouldering both his own gear and the human’s, was waiting on the shore when the farmer finally, reluctantly, tramped off the pier. From the end of the landing there was only one choice of direction, a weedy track that cut straight through the sparse woods toward the mountainous inland of Sancrist. “Time to leave, Gomja,” Teldin mournfully said.

It was only an overnight hike to reach Mount Nevermind. The trail led first through meadow-patched forest and then gradually into the mountains’ lush foothills. All along the route lay reminders of the gnomes: rusted cogs buried under tree roots, vine-cloaked skeletons of ancient machinery, and, ever in the distance, the cone-shaped peak of Mount Nevermind itself. After a quiet night, marred only by Teldin’s silent fears that the gnomes might refuse him, the pair set off on the final leg of their trek. Gomja, who fully expected to return to space, was positively jaunty as they marched.

It was midafternoon when the road finally crested a rocky ridge and dropped down into the valley that nestled against Nevermind’s slopes. There was no mistaking the gnomes mountain, for the entire region was landscaped on an immense scale that only maniacally industrious hands could have accomplished. The forest ended in a straight, clean line at the rim of the valley. Beyond that unnatural boundary were carefully laid fields that filled the perfectly level valley floor. The road cut straight through these to the massive mountain peak at the far end.

The mountain was the most extraordinary feature, more so than anything Teldin had been led to expect. Captain Luciar had said only, “You will know when you find it.” The peak would have been a perfect cone, shaped by volcanic action eons ago, except that the sides had been sliced into series of terraces, reducing the overall shape of the mountain to a giant staircase reaching up to the clouds. Teldin was dumbfounded by the sheer size of it – an entire mountain, the tallest on all of Sancrist, had been carved into a single massive ziggurat.

“This must be Mount Nevermind, sir,” Gomja offered helpfully, his small eyes open wide with amazement.

“You’re right, Gomja.” The farmer spoke mechanically, for he was too awed to show any other emotion.

Advancing with greater caution, Teldin and Gomja picked their way down the slope. On the valley floor, the road bridged innumerable canals and ditches, part of an intricate irrigation system that radiated from the peak. On the distant terraces, Teldin could see planned waterfalls where aqueducts descended to lower levels and tracks where things were hauled up. A scraggly forest of cranes creaked in the distant wind, filling the valley with the echoing cries of mechanical birds.

The road ended at a pair of bronze doors, larger than any gates Teldin had ever seen. It took the pair almost an hour to reach the massive valves. The bronze was smooth and polished but unadorned, and the evening sun’s glare off the gleaming surface was almost blinding.

“Well, this is it,” Teldin said with grim finality as he pounded against the great gate.

Nothing happened.

Teldin banged again, beating at the door with all his might, but he barely made the metal valves echo. Gomja stepped up and helped him, and the pair thumped the doors for all they were worth. Still nothing happened. Finally, in desperation, Teldin beat the bronze with the butt of his spear. A faint ringing sound echoed from inside.

Before the echoes faded, there was a metallic scrape and the perfectly smooth door was marred by a small peephole that opened high over their heads. A pair of tiny eyes glared down through the opening.

“Youcan’tgetinbybanging. Youhavetousethedooralarm. It’s —”

“What?” Teldin asked, unprepared for the barrage of gibberish from the muffled voice. It seemed like Common speech, but the words went by so fast.

The little face stopped and scowled. “Whatisthematter? DoyounotunderdstandCommon, whichIamspeaking? ItisCommon, anditisnotmyfaultifyouareoutsiders-whodonotknowthatyouhaveto-pressthedoor-alarm”

“
What
?” Teldin pleaded, “Slow down!”

There was a loud sigh from overhead, then the little, bearded face began again, saying every word with exaggerated precision. “I said, you can’t get in by banging, because you have to use the door alarm, which is that little button alongside the door, and if you push it, the door might be opened if the Doormaker’s Guild says it’s all right, which it might —”

Teldin suspected that the gnome might go on talking forever, so he reached out and pressed the small, black button alongside the door. The gnome’s declaration, which definitely was still going on, was interrupted by a blaring claxon. Teldin, his finger still on the button, leaped back in terror at the thundering noise, and Gomja tensed, his huge body striking a fighting pose. Only the gnome seemed unfazed by the racket. “There, that is much better, because now I, as a member of the Doormaker’s Guild, may open the gate and..

The little, talking face disappeared from the window. From inside came a series of rattles, groans, clanks, whistles, and wheezes. With a rattling hiss and a fitful cloud of steam that leaked from the hinges, the doors slowly swung inward. A little brown-skinned man, slightly smaller than a dwarf, stood in the center of the doorway. He wore simple tradesman’s clothes, a once-white, loose shirt and coarse pants covered with a stout leather apron. Quills, small tools, and rolled up sheets of paper poked out of every pocket and even stuck out from the wild tangles of his hair and beard.

“WhyhaveyoucometothewonderfulGreatHugeTall Mound – MadeofSeveralDifferentStrataofRock —”

What?” Teldin demanded for the third time. His spear, still in hand, swung ominously up as his exasperation increased. Gomja laid a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“Calm, sir. It’s the way gnomes speak. I’ve heard them like this before.” Teldin took a deep breath and nodded understandingly.

“— WhichOccasionallyCometotheSurfaceandFlowDownthe-SideoftheGreatHugeTallMoundthatOurAncestorsLearned-fromtheHumansWasReallyCalledMountNevermind,” finished the doorkeeper, apparently all in one huge breath. The gnome stood there panting and waiting for a response.

“Think carefully before you answer,” Teldin whispered to himself, sensing that the wrong word probably would set the doorkeeper off on an unending string of gibberish. The farmer quickly cast a cautionary look to Gomja. as if to warn the giff to keep silent while Teldin thought. Finally, he composed an answer. “I come because I was given a magical cloak and now I can’t take it off. If the gnomes can remove it, I would be glad to leave it with them and go back home to Kalaman. Please speak slowly when you answer.” Teldin braced himself for the reply.

“I always speak slowly. That is why I am the doorkeeper,” the gnome answered indignantly, his words picking up pace as he went along. Teldin held up a hand, and the gnome restrained himself. Perhaps to keep his furious mind occupied, the gnome pulled out parchment, quill, and ink from his voluminous pockets, sat in the middle of the roadway, and prepared to take notes. “Strange cloak, eh? If you want the cloak examined for weave, you’ll have to go to the Weaver’s Guild, but if the color is important, that is a problem for the Dyer’s Guild. On the other hand, if the thread is important, that would be the Weaver’s Guild again, but since you said you cannot take it off, the Jeweler’s Guild might have to be called in to look at the clasp, unless it is magical, in which case —”

“Magical, as I said before,” Teldin interrupted, seizing on something he understood in the gnome’s stream of speech.

The gnome stopped, scowled, made a note on his sheet, and looked up at Teldin again. “Magical examinations are on the fifteenth floor, but before you can go I need to know if the cloak is only apparently magical, magically powered by an outside source, or —”