1
Before . . .
The Wild Caves were certainly wild, but it was hard for Daniel and Freya to think of them as just caves. At certain points they would open out into enormous expanses that seemed more like underground landscapes. It was hard to make out features in these areas, since the vast emptiness swallowed their feeble lamplight, but there would sometimes be a glittering seam that would throw their light back at them; or a pale green luminescence swathed against a rock face.
Then, without warning, they would enter another tunnel or turn a corner to find themselves in disturbingly small and claustrophobic passages that might wind on for miles without giving them a chance to stand up straight. The air hung around them, thick with cold and clammy moisture.
Generally Swiðgar led them along whichever path appeared to offer the quickest downward loop. The Slæpismere, they knew, was a long way down, so whenever possible they would follow water—anything from a small trickle to a river. Just about any stream of water would eventually lead to the huge underground lake, they reasoned.
Sooner or later, however, each stream or trickle of water fell into a drain or slipped into a crack in the wall. This was frustrating, yet they always seemed to happen across another ribbon of water they could follow, refreshing themselves and refilling their waterskins.
When they had been walking downwards for what seemed like days, they came to a sharp ridge of slate where they paused. A draft rising from below sent warm waves of heat rolling over them, causing them to sweat. They stayed for a time, sitting on the ridge, opening up their clothing and taking off their shoes—exposing everything that they had to the warm air in order to dry them as much as possible. There was no way of telling where the air came from, but Daniel’s mind pictured an open lake of lava beneath them, sending its heat up towards them through a series of vents.
But ever before and after that, the Wild Caves were invariably cold, wet, and miserably dark. The thick, oilcloth traveling cloaks and boots were snug enough, but not completely waterproof.
Finding a place to camp was a constant difficulty. Since there was no way to mark the passage of time below the earth, and they had no watches, it was hard to estimate how long they had been walking or how long they should keep walking. Many times they would hunt around for a bit of dry ground and spend some time setting up camp, only to find sleep still a long way off.
The physical hardships would have been enough, but having no knowledge of how far they had gone or had left to go was what Daniel and Freya found most dispiriting. Only determination kept them from depression. Daniel’s desire to get stronger and better at traveling helped him keep putting one foot in front of the other. Freya’s thought of how many people depended on their mission kept her feet moving forward, long after they had started to cramp and ache.
Swiðgar was grim and serious. He seldom spoke, walking always in the lead, keeping his eyes open and ears alert for any clue of danger or trouble in the path ahead. Ecgbryt, on the other hand, exalted in the prospect of danger and adventure.
The knights were ideal traveling companions—they seemed to be walking libraries. Ecgbryt would go a ways in silence and then suddenly launch into a tale about a battle he had participated in, usually with King Ælfred against the Vikings. Daniel would always press him with questions about the details of his exploits, but would be forced into silence when his store of questions was exhausted.
Freya found Ecgbryt and Daniel exasperating at times, and preferred walking with Swiðgar up ahead. She was fond of his riddles, and he seemed to know hundreds of them. She only ever guessed a few of them correctly, but a good one would keep her mind turning for hours before she allowed Swiðgar to tell her the answer. She was never disappointed—even when she needed him to explain the answer. She even memorised a couple of her favorites.
Both Daniel and Freya enjoyed the knights’ ballads. Both knew long ballads that sometimes took over an hour to recite; some of them were so complex, they had no idea how the warriors kept them all separate in their heads—although one of them would correct the other from time to time. Ecgbryt’s songs and poems all seemed to be about battles and heroic deeds; Swiðgar’s about journeys and strange experiences and observations.
They had been following the path of a small stream—barely a trickle of water that ran steadily downwards through a narrow, gutter-like tunnel—and this lead them into a larger, open space where the echoes of their movements grew further apart and softer, and a stiff wind blew across them. More significantly, they heard sounds that they did not cause.
“Whisht,” hissed Swiðgar, motioning them to stop. They all held their breath, crouching to let their ears pick out sounds of shuffling and scraping. The sounds were regular and continuous— not the sounds of people trying not to be heard.
“I think I see something,” said Freya. “Just up ahead. It’s a kind of swirling motion—things moving around a light—up there on that rock.”
“Swa swa, so it also seems to me,” said Swiðgar. “Let us approach cautiously. There may be danger in the shadows.”
“Let it fall upon us,” Ecgbryt huffed. “It will meet my axe coming up to greet it. The night before Ælfred harried the Viking chieftain Hastein at Appledore and Milton—”
“Hush, broðor,” commanded Swiðgar.
“I am sorry, but my weapon is mighty tired from being carried around like an infant. It longs to stretch itself.”
“I will stretch it across your head if you do not strap your tongue to your teeth,” Swiðgar snapped testily. He halted in front of them but did not turn around. “God’s wounds, you are a worse prattler than Asser.”
“Aye, broðor,” said Ecgbryt with a wink at Daniel, who grinned back at him. “Aye, calm yourself, it is well.”
They crept forward, approaching the lit figure. Looking around, Daniel could see that they were entering what seemed to be a confluence of tunnels. The walls were honeycombed with black, twisting holes of various sizes—from tall, black, foreboding ruptures in the walls that spewed cold winds to holes small enough to perhaps only wriggle through, but that were so smooth they may have been sanded out of the stone. The atmosphere was a bewildering confusion of cross breezes and vortexes.
The wide, flat ground stretching before them was about the size and dimension of a football pitch and looked like some sort of abandoned mining site littered with old rickety frames and boards that were slowly rotting next to decaying bits of canvas and string. A dry and crumbling bucket lay beside an old well, and there was the occasional stone ring that encircled a fire-scorched spot of earth.
Freya could now make out the moving shapes more clearly; they were people, all milling slowly around a glowing violet light. She blinked her eyes and shook her head. For a moment she thought there was something wrong with her, but then she figured it out—it was definitely people that she saw, but as she came nearer, she found that they were very, very small.
At first she had assumed them to be far away, but now she saw that they were quite close. The tallest of them could be no more than two feet high. There seemed to be about thirty or forty of them, walking around a shiny, cylindrical object that was nearly as big as they were—a brass lamp that gave off a faint purple light.
Half of them were moving in one direction, and half of them in the other. The lines wove in and out but without any bumping, jostling, or confusion, like bees around a hive, Freya thought. Closer, she could see that the little people were wearing roughly woven clothes of dark and faded colours. Some wore curious felt hats, others had twine belts. Some had tattered shoes, but most were barefoot. The men had long beards, and the women wore long tresses. All were dumpy, with sagging faces, glumly circling the brass lamp, faces to the light, murmuring to each other in low tones.
All except one. On a smallish boulder that nonetheless placed him several heads’ height above the others sat a fat figure, much better clothed than the rest, even if just as glum.
“Gnomes,” groaned Swiðgar, shaking his head. “Cuthbert preserve us.”
2
“Gnomes?” repeated Daniel. “Really? What do they do? I mean, what are they? Where are they from?”
“They are a long-lived people—perhaps the smallest of the underground races. They make their homes in the corners unused by the other earth-livers. They are generally happy folk and do not usually intend harm or mischief to any.”
“Not that it would make much difference if they were to,”
Ecgbryt muttered.
“They mimic the actions of other races—of men, elves, dwarfs, and even goblins, I have heard tell. I would guess that the one on the rock is the king or chieftain.”
Ecgbryt snorted. “The dwarfish races sometimes use them as cheap helpmates. They don’t ask for money, content only to do what they see the dwarfs doing.” He shrugged.
“Why do they copy others?” Freya asked.
“They are Healfmods,” answered Ecgbryt, “that is, half-spirited, or halfminded—they do not think entirely for themselves.
All of them share their thoughts, such as they are, with the rest.
Apart, each of them is stupid. Together . . . in truth, together they are not much more.”
The gnomes were still moving and muttering to themselves in low voices, just as they had before. The only sign that they had registered the presence of the four newcomers was a quick dart of the eyes towards and away from the strangers, although their faces still remained sad and mournful, not in the least surprised or interested.
The travelers stood and watched for a time. The steady, circling movement and purple light was oddly hypnotic and relaxing. Daniel feared that he might turn into one of those mindless gnomes if he didn’t say or do something soon. Stepping forward, he drew a deep breath and called, “Hello!” in a loud voice.
The gnome on the rock jumped, his eyes comically wide. All of the gnomes stopped instantly as their heads spun around from every direction until they stopped at Daniel.
“Who said that?” said one with a bushy beard.
“Who’s there?” said another, a woman with a hat.
“Who said what?” asked a third.
“Hello,” answered a fourth.
“Who’s there?” asked a fifth.
“What?” said a sixth.
This fit of responses took Daniel by surprise and he stood in silence with the others. The chief had looked at him expectantly, as if he had spoken, though he never said a word.
“Um,” he began again, his eyes going from the chief to the crowd of gnomes and back again. “My name is Daniel and . . . uh, I’m—I mean we—are looking for a tunnel down to the Slæpismere. If any of you, that is, if all of you, er, know of a way down, then that’d be, you know, great. Uh . . . otherwise, if you don’t, then that’s okay—but if you do, do you think you could . . .”
Daniel could hear himself babbling stupidly but he couldn’t stop. About sixty eyes were on him, staring steadily and expectantly. It wasn’t until Ecgbryt put a hand on his shoulder that he broke off.
“Best go easy, æðeling,” Ecgbryt said gently. Then he addressed the small crowd. “The Slæpismere. We seek it. Where is it?”
“They seek the Slæpismere!”
“Oh dear, where is it?”
“I say, what is it?”
“Alas! Who wants it?”
“Alack! Who is it?”
“Slæpismere. Oh my.”
“The Slæpismere.”
This time the chieftain closed his eyes and seemed to exert considerable effort before opening his mouth. “Hello,” he managed eventually.
“Hi,” said Freya. “What’s your name?”
“Negan,” the gnome answered after a shorter pause and a little less effort. “We are called Negan.”
“Oh.” Freya nodded. “Okay.” The other gnomes were standing quietly, watching the travelers.
“We understand that you seek the Slæpismere . . .”
“Yes, that’s right.”
The gnome closed his eyes and nodded his head wisely. “Have you found it?” he asked, opening them again.
Freya faltered and Daniel picked up the conversation again.
“No. Do you know where it is?”
This brought the gnome chorus back again.
“Where is it?”
“The Slæpismere, where’s the Slæpismere?”
“The Slæpismere? Forsooth!”
“What’s one of those?”
“Who had it last? Oh me.”
“Where is it? Oh my.”
The gnome chieftain closed his eyes and the murmuring stopped. “No,” he said after a time. “We don’t know where it is. It may be down one of these tunnels,” he said, gesturing around him.
“Not that we would know.”
“Why not, haven’t you been down them?” Freya asked.
“Didn’t you make them?” Daniel asked.
“Down them? Ha!” began the chorus.
“Make them? Ho!”
“Been them? Hee!”
“Ah, what’s the point?”
“Oh, what’s the use?”
“Eh, so many tunnels.”
“I wonder who did make them . . .”
The chorus stopped.
“No,” the gnome chief replied simply. “We have not.”
“They know nothing,” said Ecgbryt.
“Perhaps they do,” Swiðgar said. “How long has it been since you came here?” he asked the gnome chief.
“Long enough.”
“Too long.”
“Time flies.”
“It’s not so bad after a while.”
“When weren’t we here?”
“Ages.”
“Long?” The gnome chief sighed. “Oh, we don’t know. After a while all time is the same—a minute seems as long as an hour and the other way around. How long have you been here?”
“We just got here,” Freya replied, growing frustrated.
“Oh. Well, you won’t stay, though you’re welcome to, I dare say. But if you do leave, I fancy you’ll return, just like our cousin.”
“Your cousin?”
“Yes, you’re bound to see him if you wait long enough. His name is Gegan. He travels here and there. He’ll be here in a minute or so . . . a couple hours at the most.”
“Why aren’t you all with him?” Freya asked with a cautious glance at the rest of the staring gnomes.
“Oh, there doesn’t seem to be any point,” said Negan.
“Why not?” asked Freya.
All of the gnomes answered at once. “What’s the use?”
“What’s the point?”
“Welladay!”
“Alack!”
“Alas!”
“I’m hungry.”
“Woe!”
“Well, why would we go with him?” answered Negan peevishly.
“All roads lead one place—and you always end up where you happen to be. There’s no getting away from it. Anyway, I’m already here, so why not stay put?”
3
“Ach,” spat Ecgbryt, “there is nothing to be got from the wee men.
I say we press on.”
“But which way?” Swiðgar asked, stroking his beard.
Ecgbryt did not answer; he just trudged off.
Daniel looked around at the grim desolation of the gnomes’ mining camp. “It’s not very nice here, is it?” he said. “Wouldn’t you like to go somewhere better?”
“Well, naturally,” Negan the gnome chief replied petulantly.
“But one could just as easily end up somewhere worse. Here at least, one has choices!”
“But it’s only a choice if you choose it,” Freya argued.
“Ah, yes, you see how futile it is,” said the gnome with a nod of sympathy.
“No, I don’t,” said Daniel hotly. “It sounds like the stupidest thing I’ve heard. Just go somewhere, anywhere, and if you don’t like it, then you can go somewhere else—somewhere better.”
Negan shrugged. “I could be somewhere better than somewhere worse if I just stay here,” he said.
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” Daniel shouted, throwing his arms above his head and stomping off. Freya and Swiðgar were left with the gnomes and nothing more to say. After a few moments, the tiny people began milling slowly around the brass lamp, wallowing in the purple light once more.
“Hey, look!” Daniel called from across the camp. “More lamps.”
Freya turned and saw Daniel standing by a large metal rack that held a long line of glinting glass and metal cylinders. He had taken one of them and was dusting it off. He held the base up to his ear and shook it. “It’s got stuff in it. I think these might still work,” he said. “Do you want one?”
Freya was about to answer but was stopped by a hearty shout of “Ho there!”
They turned to see another crowd approaching them, a second mass of gnomes with a character very like Negan leading them. He was so like the chief gnome that he was almost identical, except that his face beamed happiness and jollity. Behind him the flock of gnomes was clustered, four of whom carried a lamp raised up by two wooden poles. “Have you been talking to my cousin?” he bellowed brightly.
“Are you Gegan?” asked Daniel.
This provoked a chorus from the gnomes behind him. “Gegan!”
“Yes, Gegan the Great!”
“Gegan the far-traveled!”
“The thick-calved!”
“Sing praise for Gegan!”
“Hip-hippity ho!”
“Hooray!”
“Yes, I am Gegan,” the second gnome king answered proudly. “Have you been here long? No? That’s good. It means you couldn’t have been talking to him long. We’re sorry you had to talk to him at all; it must have been very depressing for you—it always depresses us.”
There was a babble of voices from the Negan gnomes behind them.
“Gegan is back.”
“Oh no, not Gegan.”
“Back from where, this time, I wonder?”
“I don’t like Gegan.”
“Here we go again.”
Negan, the glum king, gazed placidly into his own lantern.
“Back again so soon, brother?” he called out drearily.
“Well, yes,” said Gegan, “as a matter of fact, we are.”
“Back from where?” asked Daniel, bracing himself.
“Here!”
“There!”
“Hither and yon!”
“Afar and beyond!”
“I can’t remember!”
“Back,” exclaimed the gnome king expansively, “from my travels!”
“Have you explored these tunnels?” Swiðgar asked, joining them. “Do you know where they lead?”
“Explored them?”
“Most of them.”
“All of them!”
“How many are there?”
“How many are we?”
“Nearly all of them,” Gegan said. “Many of them several times!
Aren’t they magnificent? Why, I never tire of them, even after all these years!”
“Really?” asked Daniel. “We were just deciding where we should go.”
“Go?” repeated Gegan.
“Aye, our toes twitch and feet itch,” said Ecgbryt.
“We are trying to reach the lower levels,” Swiðgar said, dwarfing the gnome king like a tree. “To the Slæpismere. Which tunnel do we take for that?”
There was a murmur of confusion behind the gnome king.
None of the gnomes actually said anything, just made doubtful noises. Gegan stroked his chin. “We can’t rightly say, not having been to the end of any one of them—so we cannot say where they lead, as such . . .”
He trailed off, his hand moving up to rub his head. It was awhile before anyone spoke.
“But you just—you said”—Freya stammered—“that you’ve explored them all.”
“Oh, we’ve been in them, true enough, but we never go too far before we turn back to try another one. We simply love to travel, you see, but once you take one road you can’t take another. What if we were to choose a wrong one and ended up where we didn’t want to be? Then what would we do? No, it’s best to come back here and review my decision every once in a while. That’s the only way I can be sure to find the right one.” His cheeks propped up a hopeful smile.
Ecgbryt let out a bellowing laugh. “So, friend gnome, you are always walking and never arriving.” Gegan’s eyes shifted uncertainly and he frowned.
“You’re just like them,” Freya said, throwing a finger towards the miserable Negan.
“Ho!” Gegan laughed and shook his head. “There’s a world of difference between us. He stays here because he hates to go anywhere, where as I . . . I . . . ,” he faltered.
Daniel turned to the still-smiling Gegan and asked, “Which one of these tunnels goes the farthest downwards?”
Dozens of small arms and fingers pointed out in separate directions. Gegan thought for a moment and the arms and fingers swiveled one by one to indicate one of the larger exits from the cavern. “This one, probably,” he said.
“Well, it’s more than we knew before,” said Daniel as Ecgbryt came to stand behind him. “It’s worth a try. Freya?” Freya nodded reluctantly. “Swiðgar?”
“Yes, I suppose it will do.”
“Wonderful. Let’s go, Gegan,” Daniel said.
After watching them pass with a thoughtful eye, Gegan ran up alongside them, his sandals clicking merrily and his clan padding eagerly behind him. “Yes, and we will come with you,” he chirped excitedly. “If we cannot assure you by our words, then we will convince you by our feet that we really do love to travel!”
“Hold on a second,” Daniel said, pausing at the rack of lanterns. “Freya, do you want one?” They picked out a couple they could use for as long as the fuel lasted. With little trouble they were able to light them. The lamps were heavy but gave off a good, steady light—even with the wicks kept quite low. The light seemed to go farther than their own lamps, but it wasn’t easy to say if the purple light was brighter. They burned with a rich, sweet aroma, as if incense was mixed in with the oil.
Ready to depart, the clan Gegan dutifully took their place up ahead and the rest followed behind. For a good time the gnomes walked merrily along, singing strange songs with complex choruses that they sometimes muddled up. But gradually, the singing became weaker and the clan appeared to grow oddly agitated.
Gegan himself began to twitch and rub his neck. Then he started to cast longing looks behind him, a strained smile on his face.
“You want to go back,” stated Freya, “don’t you?”
“Yes, well . . . no, it’s not that, it’s just . . . we have never been this far before.”
“I thought that was the exciting part,” Daniel said sarcastically.
There were groans and a cry of “wey-la-day!” before Gegan said, “Well, not exactly. The fun part is traveling, but we were just thinking—what if one of the other tunnels was better . . . what if it led more in the direction that you want to go? We thought this one a good choice, but now that one comes to it . . . what if . . . ?”
“We’ve only just started,” said Daniel.
“The gnome speaks true,” Swiðgar said, stopping behind them. He and Ecgbryt needed to stoop down slightly to walk this tunnel. “The way was fairly steep downwards at the start, but since that time the tunnel has risen back to the level of the cavern, and more, I judge.”
“Let us go a little farther yet,” suggested Ecgbryt. “It may descend yet again. There is nothing lost if we be wrong.”
“Nothing but time,” said Swiðgar. “And that is something in limited supply. It may go farther down yet, but another path may be better. I think we should return to the cavern.”
“And do what? Try another tunnel?” Ecgbryt responded, his voice rising. “Which of those was more promising than this?”
“Perhaps,” said Swiðgar uncomfortably, “we could go a small way into each one—a short distance and follow the one most likely.”
“But time presses, Swiðgar,” Ecgbryt said in a mocking tone. “We will get nowhere by traveling short distances. Who’s to know that the tunnels don’t all meet up farther on down? Let us press on.”
Swiðgar didn’t move; he just glowered at Ecgbryt. “Wisdom dictates that we stop and consider before—”
“Oh yes, wise Swiðgar and his dictates!”
“You speak out of turn, broðor!”
“Then kindly inform each of us when our turn arrives, so we may speak then!”
Daniel and Freya stood along one wall, gripping their lanterns and watching the knights argue with wide eyes. Daniel looked at the gnomes and would have laughed if he weren’t so afraid. Almost a hundred wide and fearful eyes were looking at the knights like frightened islanders would look at a hurricane.
Swiðgar’s jaw clenched. “Have your say,” he growled.
“We have barely even started down this route,” Ecgbryt said, his voice steady. “The lad is right, let us just follow it a little farther.”
There was a heavy silence as the knights glared at each other. “I agree with Swiðgar,” Freya announced. “I think we should—”
She stopped abruptly when Ecgbryt turned his face on her, his eyes blazing angrily.
“I do too,” said Daniel, stepping forward to stand beside Freya.
“But I agree more with Ecgbryt,” he said, turning to Swiðgar.
“Anyhow, I don’t see why we have to have it just one way. Let’s just go a little farther and if it still doesn’t look good, then we can turn back. That way we’re all satisfied, yeah?”
Ecgbryt dipped his eyes and looked away. Swiðgar stroked his beard, and Freya moved a trembling hand across her hot face.
“We can still have it both ways, it’s just that we can’t know if this tunnel is right if we turn back now.”
Swiðgar gave a curt nod. “Very well,” he conceded, turning to the gnomes. “You are welcome to join us, but you are not bound.”
All of the tiny eyes stared, blinking. “Ah, yes,” said the chief nervously. “We would gladly join you, but if it’s all the same . . . we won’t. Still,” he said, trying to sound hearty. Raising his hands, he declared, “May your legs move merrily along your . . . what-you-may-call-it, and may your feet never want for . . . thingy. And all that. Right. Okay,” he said, turning. “Come along, lads.”
The gnomes turned quickly and bustled off back up the tunnel, carrying their lantern with them.
4
As the travelers resumed their journey in sullen silence, they soon noticed the texture of the walls change from a crumbly black surface to a soft, lumpy white one.
“It looks like chalk,” said Freya.
“Aye, so it is,” answered Swiðgar. This was the first exchange in some time, and it died in silence.
“What’s happening up there?” Daniel asked. “Does the tunnel just end?”
“It might just be a turn or something,” Freya said.
Because of the white walls, the light cast by the lamps was brighter and went farther, but it still was only a few more steps until they saw that the tunnel did, in fact, come to a dead end.
“Well, that’s that,” said Daniel under his breath. “Now we know.” He turned and tried to avoid Swiðgar’s eye.
“Wait, look,” said Freya. “That edge up there. Look, there’s something on the other side.”
“The girl’s right,” Ecgbryt said, stepping towards what looked like a depression in the wall. Once his torch shone across it, however, it was revealed to be a hole large enough for him to put first his torch and then his head through it. Standing on his toes and pulling himself up with his free hand, he examined the opening for a moment before pulling himself out.
“It appears to lead to the floor of another chamber,” he reported. “I see a lot of walls and entrances. I think we should investigate it.”
Swiðgar said nothing but stood pulling at his beard doubtfully.
“Take a look for yourself at least,” Ecgbryt suggested.
Swiðgar stepped forward and examined the hole in the same way. “Very well,” he agreed reluctantly, “let one of us go first, and then the æðelingas.”
Ecgbryt was lofting his gear and weaponry through the hole before Swiðgar had even finished talking. With difficulty, and some widening of the chalk hole, Ecgbryt pushed through and was able to reach down to pull Daniel and Freya up as well.
Looking around, they saw that they were in the corner of what looked to be a grid-like construction of tunnels—or rather, one wide-open space that was supported by many thick columns of white rock.
“I believe this may be a mine. Much of the island is rich in good quality chalk such as this.”
Daniel considered. “A mine? But I thought that we were going through the Wild Caves—not anything made by men.”
Swiðgar nodded. “And so we have been until now. These caves were not made by Britons, though, but by the men of Rome, and possibly the Celts before them.”
“Still,” said Freya, “we can’t be that far from the surface, can we?”
“We will have to see. But my fear is that we are straying from our true course.”
“So little faith have you, Swiðgar?” said Ecgbryt. “You must trust more to fortune—it has been on our side yet.”
Swiðgar’s face went slightly dark and then cleared again.
“Nevertheless,” he said, “if you don’t think it mocking fate, I would like to mark our exit.”
Ecgbryt shrugged and hoisted his pack. Using the butt of his spear to scrape into the soft stone, Swiðgar made large Xs on the walls above the hole. They gathered their things and started exploring the new tunnels.
They walked for some time but arrived nowhere. Each section of the tunnel was the same as the last, a short corridor leading to a perpendicular crossroads, always carved out of white, powdery rock. Eventually their path ended in a wall so they turned and walked along that for a while. When that ended after a short distance, so they went in another direction. Freya’s eyes were starting to water from the dust clouding up from their steps and from the endless repetition.
Eventually they decided to stop at a crossroads and rest. The light from the torches did not reflect off any wall down either end, as far as they could see. Frustrated, they sat together, not saying a word or even looking at each other. Daniel finished massaging his feet and very carefully put his socks back on. He drank some water and lay back on the cold floor, willing his muscles to relax.
It was as he closed his eyes and let his mind drift that he felt something on the back of his head—a dull vibration that came from the ground: a kind of pounding and scraping.
He opened his eyes. None of the others were doing anything to create the strange sensation he was feeling. He strained his ears to listen, trying to separate sounds away from each other, then realised that he wasn’t listening to one sound but to lots of the same sound. The feeling of dread swept over him.
“Everyone, quiet,” he whispered. “I think it’s yfelgópes!”
All held their breath. Swiðgar and Ecgbryt stood, quietly drawing their weapons.
Soon they heard the sound of footsteps—many footsteps. A flickering light grew around them. Daniel stood up and took a few steps down the tunnel. He guessed what the source of the light was before he saw it—it was another lamp. In the deep blue glow they glimpsed a shape, which they quickly recognised.
More gnomes.
For a dizzy moment, Daniel thought that it might be the Gegan clan—whom they had somehow circled around to meet again. But the light of their own torches soon revealed a fatter, swarthier gnome with different clothes and hair. Daniel took a deep breath and stepped forward. “Hello,” he said and introduced himself.
“Halloo!”
“Hail, and well met!”
“Welcome!”
“Pleased ta meetcha.”
“Hello,” said the rotund figure at the head. “Our name is Ergan.”
“Greetings to you, friend gnome,” Swiðgar said, coming to stand beside Daniel.
The gnome gaped up at the knight—many times taller than he—and blinked rapidly.
“Are you—do you have two cousins?” asked Freya.
The gnome turned his eyes to her and seemed to ponder the question. There was a confused muttering behind him. “Yes, we believe we do. Gegan and Negan are kinsmen of mine. Have you met them?”
Ecgbryt snorted and nodded his head. “For all the good it’s done us.”
“Yes,” said Freya, “we have.”
“They are silly folk,” said Ergan. “One of them won’t go anywhere and the other tries to go everywhere at once. So they end up nowhere!”
“Yes!” said Daniel. “Exactly!”
“When really,” continued Ergan, obviously pleased at the reception he was getting, “it doesn’t matter where you go, so long as you go somewhere.”
“Right,” said Daniel. “Exactly. Listen, we are searching for the entrance to the Slæpismere. Do you know where that is?”
“Oh . . . ,” said Ergan slowly. “I think we do. That is, we must do—we have walked these tunnels long enough! Let us see . . . Let us see . . . We shall consult the maps. Bring the maps!”
There was a chorus of “bring the maps!” and after some bustling, several bundles of scrolled-up parchment were produced.
The lamp was turned up to give enough light to read by, and the four travelers could see that they were now in the company of a much more sophisticated type of gnome. These seemed much more prepared than any of the others. Some of them were wearing metal helmets and had coils of rope across their shoulders. There was a call for more light and candles were produced.
“At last!” said Ecgbryt excitedly. “We can move onwards!”
“I thought that we were moving onwards, broðor,” Swiðgar jibed.
Ecgbryt glowered. “For lack of a leader,” he said, “we were simply moving—or drifting, rather. Rudderless, directionless.”
“So, you disregard my advice and claim that you had no direction?” Swiðgar charged, his voice rising.
Ecgbryt batted the question away with a flip of his hand. “Bah, he is starting to sound like Ealdstan,” he muttered to himself, bending over the maps that the gnomes were spreading out.
Swiðgar’s teeth clenched. He folded his arms across his chest and turned away.
“Ah, here we are,” announced Ergan. “We haven’t come across the Slæpismere yet, but we know several places where it could be.”
“Show us,” said Ecgbryt, bending over.
“Show him,” commanded Ergan with a signal. Instantly, four gnomes sprang forward and pointed fingers at different points on several of the scrolls that had been unrolled before them. “The lowest points of the tunnel we’ve found are here, here, and here,” he explained. “Found on maps 27-12, 18-39, and 111-3e7. However, none of those tunnels diverge and at no point are any of the tunnels crossed by any streams or tributaries.”
Ergan paused as Swiðgar and Freya joined them to look over the mapwork. “However,” the gnome chief continued, “however— ah, do you know in which direction this Slæpismere lies?”
Swiðgar shook his head.
“Pity,” said Ergan. “Because that would have helped us narrow it down. You see, there are, as yet, at least one hundred and thirty-four unexplored branches and divergences.” All of the rest of the gnomes reached into their satchels, pulled out unrolled maps, and waved them in the air.
Swiðgar sighed and removed his helmet. Daniel and Freya watched him run a hand several times across his head.
“This is what you do?” Swiðgar asked. “You search through the tunnels and make maps of them?”
All of the gnomes’ heads began nodding furiously. “Yes,” said Ergan proudly. “That is what we do.”
“How long have you been doing this?” asked Freya.
Every shoulder of every gnome shrugged once; Ergan shrugged too. “Years and years. Maybe a hundred. Since I was this high.” He placed his hand at his waist, roughly twelve inches from the ground.
“And not once have you discovered the Slæpismere, or imagined where it might lie?”
Ergan shook his head. “No, we can’t say that we have.”
“What have you discovered?”
“Tunnels!” squealed Ergan delightedly. Several gnomes behind him echoed the word in a happy fashion. “Lots and lots of glorious tunnels! Every one of them a marvel. Don’t you find them simply fantastic? How many people have wandered these tunnels over the years? Who made them? What stories do they have to tell? Why, when we think of how much there still is to do, it makes our hearts ache. So much to look forward to, and so much that we may not live to see. Still, at least future generations will be able to enjoy the benefits of our work and go wherever they want, whenever they want. You—do you not think that grand?”
Ergan faltered when he realised that the look on the companions’ harrowed faces was anger dangerously mixed with a little fear.
“What?” squeaked Ergan. “Whatever is the matter?”
“I think I understand,” said Ecgbryt calmly, drawing his axe.
“Hold by, gnome. I am a master axeman and this will be done quickly . . .” He took a couple steps towards the small figure.
“What are you going to do?” asked Freya.
“Since we cannot coax the direction we need from them, I am going to peel the chief’s skin back and see if it lies inside of him.
And if not him, then I’ll try the next. I’ll unravel every last one of them, if I have to. Unpleasant work, certainly, but I am resolved to it.”
The gnomes’ faces blanched in terror, their eyes staring from their round heads. There were many confused cries and shouts.
A dozen hands were placed on Ergan and with a chorus of voices yelling, “Save the chief!” they fled back down the tunnel. The light from their lantern bobbed in the darkness when they could be seen no longer, and then it too disappeared.
Ecgbryt was laughing as he sheathed his sword.
“That was mean,” said Freya.
“And pointless,” said Swiðgar.
“But hilarious!” exploded Daniel.
“Aye, the boy has me,” said Ecgbryt. “It was all for the look on their funny little faces.”
“But now we are worse off than before,” said Swiðgar gravely.
Ecgbryt shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“No, we aren’t worse off,” said Daniel. “In fact, we’re better. All those gnomes were just confusing us, and I think they were meant to. What if this is a trap of some kind? We’re probably meant to wander around forever and become just as confused as those gnomes. We have to go back to the big cavern—I think there’s something we’ve missed.”
Swiðgar frowned. “What you say may be true, but then again, it may be that the path lies some farther distance up and we do not know it yet.”
“Of course,” said Daniel, “but I don’t think so. Remember what Ealdstan said? Gád would want to make sure that he could get to his heart quickly if he needed to. So the hiding place wouldn’t be too far away. Besides, those gnomes have been wandering everywhere and haven’t found a thing. No, we went wrong at the start of this, somehow.”
“A riddle!” Ecgbryt exclaimed gleefully, rubbing his hands together. “Now my blood is running and my feet shall go no slower. Come, æðelingas, I wist you will have a job to keep up.”
Daniel and Ecgbryt virtually leapt back down the way they had come, with Freya and Swiðgar trailing behind them. But after a few steps, she hesitated and stopped, wanting to turn to Swiðgar, who she knew was still standing there unhappily. She decided not to in the end, thinking it might embarrass him. Instead, she spent an extra long time adjusting her pack.
Behind her, Swiðgar said something she didn’t understand, and then there came a crash, a smash, and a rattling clatter as the lanterns bounced into the darkness. It startled her, but she hid this by hiking her pack up onto her shoulders. Then Swiðgar passed her with his enormous strides and she hurried to catch up to him.
5
They made their way back to the big cavern. The journey was uneventful and embarrassing, and bad feelings still hung in the air. Freya only hoped that they could solve the riddle quickly so that they could get on with their journey and put the unpleasantness behind them.
After a time they were able to see the purple glow of Gegan’s lamp through the worming tunnel. They unslung their packs when they came to the mining camp and stood a fair ways off from the static gnome chief and his orbiting clansmen.
“So, what are we looking for, Freya?” Daniel asked. “We’re underneath Britain, wedged between solid rock—it has to be a tunnel.”
“We have plenty of tunnels, but we think that they’re here to distract us. So maybe it’s a tunnel that doesn’t look like a tunnel.”
“A hidden tunnel?”
Freya nodded. “Let’s start looking.”
The two of them, and after a short time the knights also, began hunting around the abandoned campsite. Daniel was searching the rack of lamps again to see if it concealed a hidden doorway, when, taking a step back, his calf bumped against a gnome. Startled, he flinched away and let out a surprised grunt. There were not one but four gnomes standing at his feet. “I nearly trod on you,” Daniel said. “What are you doing here?”
The gnomes just stood, looking up at him. “Freya? Ecgbryt?” he called. They turned to him and bumped into gnomes of their own. Swiðgar almost squashed one completely, except that he shifted his foot at the last instant.
“What do you want?” Freya asked the gnomes. They just stood looking vacantly up at her. “Guys?” she asked nervously. “What’s going on?”
Daniel and the two knights had begun to draw away from the corners they had been hunting in to stand closer together, and the gnomes followed their footsteps.
“Are you trying to help us?” Freya asked her gnomes, bending forward slightly as she slowly edged towards the others. “Are you trying to stop us?” The gnomes said nothing, just kept following.
Freya joined the others, who were trying to gently push the gnomes away with their feet. She looked up to the rest of the Gegan clan and saw that more gnomes were leaving the group and wandering towards them. Except for two.
Two of them were heading towards . . .
The well.
It all clicked into place for her at that moment. The Gegan gnomes’ chief did know where the exit was, and while its main thought was to keep them away, it couldn’t help also thinking about what it was keeping them away from—which was the well, another tunnel hidden, but in plain sight. Freya nudged Daniel and pointed. He looked at it for a moment before his eyes grew wide, and a smile flashed across his face. They silently communicated to the two knights, and they pushed through the growing circle of gnomes and collected their packs. They brushed aside the gnomes that were clinging to them or who had climbed on top of them.
They had just turned towards the well when they heard:
“Where are you going?”
“Where are you going?”
“Stay here.”
“Stay away from there.”
“Get ready, boys.”
They paused instantly, and then Swiðgar said, “Let us be swift, æðelingas—the gnomes are starting to turn.”
“Do they know?”
“They’ve twigged it.”
“But do they know?”
“They’ve figured it out.”
“Get them!”
As one, the gnomes leapt forward, gripping at their legs and climbing upwards.
“Run!” shouted Ecgbryt, booting a gnome halfway across the encampment. Daniel and Freya struggled forward, trying to shake the gnomes off of them. It was hard work, as their little pudgy hands gripped their clothes tenaciously.
“Slow them down!”
“Weigh them down!”
“Stab them!”
“Slit their throats!”
At these alarming cries, one of the gnomes that had swung onto Freya’s sleeve produced a knife from its belt. Its blade was only two inches long, but it looked very, very sharp. Whipping her arm away, she sent it flying, just as she heard Daniel cry out.
He reached down and clawed a gnome off of his shin and threw it away from him. More and more of the gnomes were producing knives. The well bristled with them now; the whole rest of the clan of gnomes was now lining its rim, waiting for them.
Daniel had an idea, though, and glanced across to the gnome chieftain, still atop the rock near his the purple lantern. He was standing, hands clenched at his sides, glaring at them in anger, but there were no gnomes around him, and none between the two of them. Daniel saw his chance and jumped towards the chief, clearing the heads of several gnomes around him.
The gnomes were fast and energetic, but no match for a boy running at top speed. In any case, it was only a dozen steps before Daniel had reached him. During that time, he had shaken the gnomes from him and drawn his sword.
“No!”
“Stop him!”
“Help!”
“Don’t!”
“Please!”
“Mercy!”
Biting down on his lip, Daniel brought his sword down and cleaved through Gegan, the chief gnome. The sword entered the gnome’s shoulder and sunk to his belly. A second later the small, rotund little creature was dead.
The gnomes exploded into a frenzy. The ones that were on either the knights or Freya let go and fell to the ground. The gnomes lining the well ran all different directions, bumping into each other and falling in and off the well itself.
They scattered, screaming and wailing into the darkness. Soon they were gone from sight.
Wincing, and trying not to vomit, Daniel shook the dead body of the gnome off of his sword. It fell to the ground with a plop.
“That was fast thinking, Daniel,” Ecgbryt said. “Well done.”
“You gave me the idea for it,” Daniel said, wiping his sword with a bit of his leather coat and sheathing it again.
“Let’s move on,” Swiðgar said. “Before the Ergan gnomes come back.”