Ben - 1. Chapter 1

The day started much like any day on the bench of rock hanging on the side of a massive granite mountain. The morning chubby birds chirped, welcoming the dawn. The rooster proudly strode atop the coop and crowed. The littlest pixies ran around the yard and garden picking up slugs and snails that hadn’t fled to their hiding places. Harold the ghost raven flew down from the loft where the children slept and stood on the back of Gregor the Sorcerer’s chair while Margo, the children’s nanny and cook for the family, laid out breakfast.

“No egg for Harold?” Harold asked.

“I’ll bring it out when the rest of breakfast is served, you stupid bird,” Margo said. Although she tolerated Harold, she never seemed to grasp the concept of a raven ghost who spoke. Plus, she didn’t put up with his silliness. “Why do you ask the same question every morning?”

“Bird, small brain, can’t remember,” Harold said.

“My fat ass you can’t remember,” Margo said, “you remember more than all of us. Now go wake up the children and try not poking them so hard this time.”

“She don’t like me,” Harold said as he poked Gregor’s shoulder.

“She likes you, but you’re trying sometimes,” Gregor said as he wondered why was it the raven had to poke him in the same spot practically every morning. Harold, though, was important to him, having done a lot when he was locked in the old castle with the demon. That was years ago, but Harold was much older than that. After a few sips of ale, the raven spoke of earlier times when the whole area was full of magic, which must have been centuries ago.

“Trying what?”

“Okay, not trying, maybe that’s the wrong word, but you are a pain sometimes,” Gregor said, exasperated by the raven’s sometime inability to understand basic concepts. It was almost as if he was playing with them, which when one thought about it was a very raven-like trait.

“Where?”

“In the ass! Now, get upstairs and wake the children. And, this time do an alarm clock instead of poking them.”

“Burrriiinngg burrriiinngg!”

“Yes.”

“Burrriiinngg burrriiinngg! Burrriiinngg burrriiinngg!” Harold rang as he flew back up to the loft.

The cottage was filled with Harold imitating an alarm clock, which wouldn’t be invented for centuries, but with a sorcerer in the cottage anything was possible. The only problem with Harold was he didn’t have a switch to turn him off. The children came down the step wiping sleep from their eyes as Harold kept ringing and ringing.

“Gregor! Stop that stupid bird!” Edwina screamed as she hurried out of the bedroom, still tying her robe.

“Harold stop!” Gregor exclaimed. “Everyone is up!”

“Where egg?” Harold asked.

“Margo! Get this damned bird his egg,” Gregor yelled.

“Look, you, I don’t have to be up here, you know,” Margo said as she walked out of the kitchen holding a small bowl containing a broken egg.

“I’m sorry, but some days the bird is so trying,” Gregor said.

“If I remember right, the story is you called him back from the dead,” Margo said.

“Yeah, Daddy, you wanted him,” said Ben, the male third of the triplets, now about six years old physically, but not quite five chronologically. “I have a thingy. Trudy and Bea don’t.”

“What?” Edwina asked.

“Mummy, Harold said I have a thingy,” Ben said. “Do you want to see it?”

“I’ve already seen your thingy and we don’t talk about things like that at the table,” Edwina said. “Gregor, I think you need to talk to Harold and Ben, after all he is your son.”

“He’s your son, too,” Gregor said, seeing a cold breakfast in his immediate future. “Why can’t Brother Timothy do it?”

“I thought we agreed Timothy wouldn’t be a part of our lives for the time being,” Edwina said.

“Yeah, Mummy, why can’t Brother Timothy talk to me about my thingy,” Ben said. “Are you Brother Timothy now?”

“No Ben, I’m not Brother Timothy,” Edwina said. “I only do that for your daddy.”

“When you do it?” Ben asked.

“Gregor! Take this boy outside right now,” Edwina said. “Go! Both of you! And, take that bird with you.”

“Not finish egg, yet,” Harold said.

“Are you going to whup me?” Ben asked as he and his father walked out into the bright morning light. Gregor brought along Harold’s bowl and a strip of bacon for the bird. At least someone was going to get a warm breakfast.

Gregor sat down on one of the wooden rocking chairs on the porch and Ben climbed up onto his lap. Like his sisters, he was a wiry, towheaded child with a ready smile and a bit of mischievousness in him. The sorcerer saw them in the years to come when they’d leave home and go off to school, find soul mates, and have their own children; and, quite possibly, never come home ever again. The future was a bit foggy on that score. He thought he could see grandchildren or little children that might be grandchildren, but he couldn’t be certain they were his or children from the orphanage in the valley.

“I was naughty, wasn’t I?” Ben asked. He laid his head against his father’s shoulder and sighed as most children do when confronted with life’s complexities.

“Do you know why?” Gregor asked.

“I wasn’t supposed to talk about my thingy, was I,” Ben said.

“Boys don’t talk about their thingies in mixed company.”

“You mean around Mummy and Trudy and Bea and Margo and Rubiette when she comes over?” Ben asked, looking up at his father who brought an arm around the boy and settled him back onto his shoulder.

“Yes, but with the dwarfs you don’t talk about your thingy with any of them, at any time. You just never know when the dwarf you’re speaking to is a mummy dwarf or a papa dwarf,” Gregor said, wondering if this was too complicated for the boy, now.

“Don’t they have thingies?”

Gregor stiffened, sighed, and his son tensed up a bit as if anticipating a physical response to his question.

“Dwarfs are different from humans and they don’t ever talk about personal human stuff,” Gregor said. “Do you understand?”

“Uh, huh,” Ben whispered. “Are you going to whup me now?”

“Should I?” Gregor asked, never having actually physically punished any of his children. Sometimes, with a sorcerer in the house, there were punishments far better than a whupping.

“If I promise not to do it again, will that be okay?” Ben asked recalling that last time he’d been stuck face up to the ceiling for what seemed like hours.

“Yes, and be careful around Harold,” Gregor said. “He might get you into trouble with what he says.”

“He said I could play with my thingy,” Ben said. “Is that okay? That isn’t bad is it? Margo said good little boys shouldn’t touch themselves down there, except when they wee.”

“Okay, you’re a little young for this, but little boys don’t have thingies. I know what Harold told you, but he is a strange bird who has a problem with human anatomy. It’s called a willy. When you’re older it’s called something else and, hopefully, you’ll come to me when the time comes instead of getting it from any of the other beings around here.”

“Like the trolls?” Ben asked.

“Especially, the trolls. When you come of age, which should be in about six years, or so, or sooner if the magic decides you should age quicker, I want you to come to me and we’ll talk about boys getting older. Okay?”

“But, won’t I be at school then?” Ben said.

“Oh, yes, there is that, isn’t there,” Gregor said, sighing at the boy’s reminder to check on the admission policies at some of the better Hinterlandian boys and girls schools; and, then a wave of sadness swept through him realizing his children were going to be leaving much sooner, than later.

“Can Trudy and Bea play with my willy?”

“No! Who said you could do that?” Gregor asked, pushing his son off his lap and turning him to be face-to-face.

“Unger the troll said that’s what human girls are for. Are you mad at me, again?”

“Did you ask them, yet?

“No, but Unger said I should tell him how it feels when one of them does it. Unger seemed really interested. You know how trolls get when they’re excited. He had a boner. That’s what he called it. Is that what it’s called?”

“Ben I’m going to have a little chat with Unger.”

“Is he in trouble, too?” Ben asked as a little tear trickled down his cheek.

“Yes, very much in trouble.”

“I saw his willy when we went to wee. He doesn’t fit in the little house, so I showed him a place in the boulders where he could wee without being seen and I weed with him. Was that okay? He said I had a very nice thingy for a human. Then he got a boner and told me to ask Trudy and Bea to touch it.”

“I’m going to have to speak with Unger’s parents,” Gregor said, remembering the fiasco of his last visit to the netherworld. Adult humans just weren’t welcome there, but as a sorcerer he could pretty much go wherever he wanted. Most of the beings in the netherworld were quite astonished to see him, especially the goblin who stole one of their chickens. It was funny, though, the way lightning was more sheet-like than single bolt.

“Can we go back and have breakfast?” Ben asked. “Unger said he was going to come today.”

“Ben, I’ll take care of it and hopefully Unger’s retam and retap will give him a good speaking to. And, Ben?”

“Yes, Papa?”

“Thank you for telling me about Unger,” Gregor said as he followed his son back into the cottage for a breakfast of cold eggs, cold bacon, cold toast, with a cold cup of tea.

He didn’t really want to go to the netherworld to speak to the trolls because their language was quite difficult. A sentence started with a verb followed by all sorts of prepositions, adverbs, adjectives, until concluding with the sole noun permitted. And, in the netherworld, trolls spoke backward, not just with words, as in “drawkcab” backward, but whole sentences were jumbled. You had to listen very carefully to what they were saying. Luckily, trolls weren’t a verbose folk, like dwarfs, pixies, goblins, ghouls, and from what he’d heard, gnomes, who were strange beings quite unlike the ones in the kingdom where he was born. There gnomes were garden folk who planted and tended, gardens and lawns. Here they were much different. The dwarfs said gnomes were evil.

* * * * * * * * *

Later, after the table had been cleared; the dishes, pots, pans, and utensils had been scrubbed and put away; and the cottage received its daily dusting—on Satyrsday the floor was mopped and bed linens were washed—and the windows had been washed, the children sat down at the table and received their daily lessons from Edwina, Margo, and Gregor, who didn’t have to do too much because the magic did most of the work.

Edwina taught reading and writing. Margo taught practical things like how to make scones and muffins, soap, and other household things the children would have to know when they were older. Ben always tried to get out of this part, but Papa told him he might be alone someday and it’d be helpful to at least know how to catch a fish, which Margo also taught. Gregor and the magic taught the lore of the beings and creatures living in Hinterlands and the netherworld; some of these lessons included fieldtrips, like the time they went across the valley to see the dwarf mines and the children laughed and laughed because Mummy, Papa, and Margo had to scrunch down because they were too tall for dwarf dug passageways.

Sometimes these lessons took all day or more when they took fieldtrips. Today’s lesson was a primary on human anatomy. Just the basics, nothing too involved, which little children didn’t need to know. It was decided that day to wall off the children’s loft into two separate quarters, one for Ben and the other, a little larger, for the girls. Of course, this didn’t mean the children weren’t going to stop seeing each other naked because there was swimming trips to one of the tarns in the area and the thrice weekly baths, when everyone, including the adults, got into a hot tub the magic constructed and washed and scrubbed until they were all very, very clean.

The lesson ended before the midday meal and Ben went out to see if Unger had come across the veil from the netherworld. Much to his delight, he saw the bulky being moving large rocks out of an area Margo intended to plant an orchard next spring. Adult trolls were massive with arms as thick as a man’s legs and legs as thick as a good sized tree. They were tall as a cottage and their faces were solemn with sad gray eyes, a flat nose, droopy ears, and an unsmiling expression. Yet, they were good workers who sometimes took rocks—they particularly favored gneiss or schist, but would take andesite or basalt on occasion—if they had some sort of building project going on around their home, otherwise they would insist on crystals, preferably clear quartz or zircon.

Unger, who was thirty-five years old and quite young for a troll to go across the veil unsupervised, was doing his work for crystals because he wanted to travel to the other side of the netherworld where his uncle ran a small marble quarry for human artisans in the area.

“Hi,” Ben said as he walked up to where Unger was working.

Unger didn’t say anything.

“Did you get in trouble?” Ben asked.

“Yes,” Under whispered. “Not like you anymore.”

“But, why can’t we be friends?” Ben asked failing to see his part in the troll’s punishment as being anything bad enough to cease their friendship.

“You bad boy,” Unger said as he continued to heft rocks out of the ground. “You better watch out, elves get you, crunch Ben’s bones.”

“I’m not afraid of any elves,” Ben sneered. “We’re protected by Papa’s magic.”

“You come with me,” Unger whispered as he grabbed Ben’s arm and forced him across the veil into the netherworld.

“Hey! You can’t do this!” Ben exclaimed trying to wrench himself from the troll’s firm grip.

“You bad boy, Unger take care of you.”

“Take me home, you can’t do this,” Ben demanded. “My Papa will get you for this.”

The troll picked up the boy and slung him over his shoulder, keeping a tight grip on both legs with his massive hand. Ben had been to the netherworld before, but each time it was a little different. When you looked around in the dim light everything appeared as if it was pasted in a book and nothing, including Ben, had any thickness. If you looked along the side of things, they were as thin as vellum, but you were rarely able to do that because you couldn’t get behind anything as everything moved with your eyes to present a flat surface. You had to glance at the edges to see between the layers.

Ben didn’t know where they were going because they didn’t come across near Unger’s home. The troll was mostly running now or running in the sense that trolls could actually run. It was mostly a hurried shuffle, but they were making good speed to wherever their final destination.

Finally, Unger slowed and then came to a stop. He was speaking a language Ben didn’t understand and then they started moving, again. Ben looked behind them and saw an elf that definitely had a mouth-watering look. Well, at least he wasn’t given to the first elf.

“Where are we going?” Ben asked.

“None your business,” Unger said. “You see when get there. Unger be rich. Go away.”

“My Papa will find you,” Ben said.

“He can’t come here,” Unger said.

“He came this morning and spoke to your parents.”

“He come across veil?”

“You know he’s a powerful sorcerer. He can do anything he wants.”

“I fix you. No one find you. Unger be rich. Go away.”

Ben couldn’t see any point in arguing. He knew his father was going to come for him, wherever he ended up in the netherworld. They stopped again and Unger spoke in that unknown language. Then they were off in another direction going faster now, so fast that Ben, hanging from the troll’s shoulder, couldn’t keep up with the scenery disappearing behind them. It was as if the whole of the netherworld was sinking into a hole the faster they ran away from it.

Ben looked first to one side, then to the other, but both views were nothing but edges stuck together so that all the color was washed out. If he blinked or moved his eyes quickly, he could perceive the space between two edges, but it was only there for the briefest of time.

Then Unger stopped again. Ben was hauled off the troll’s shoulder and put onto the ground. They were standing at the edge of a walnut orchard. Before them stood two short beings, a little shorter than dwarfs and a little stockier. They were wearing tall conical hats—one’s cap was red and the other was brown—that rested on their pointed ears. Their ruddy complexion was offset with black eyebrows, long black beards, and cold black eyes, neither smiled.

The one with the red hat came up to Ben and forced open his mouth. He ran his fingers around and over the boy’s teeth; then squeezed his tongue, bringing a yelp from the boy. The red hat slapped Ben’s face.

“No talk,” it said. It began to run its hands and fingers all over the boy squeezing, prodding, and poking every muscle and cavity. Finally, it spoke in that strange language and stepped back to where the other stood.

Unger said something.

The brown hat said something that seemed tinged with anger.

Unger said something with a voice full of fear.

Suddenly, more of the short beings ran out of the orchard and swarmed over the troll. The brown hat pulled Ben away and he turned to look, but the brown hat continued to pull him into the orchard.

“Forget him,” the brown hat said. “He is no more.”

“But?”

The brown hat kicked Ben so hard he fell onto the ground. He went to get up, but the red hat had come up behind them and pushed Ben back onto the ground. Ben couldn’t understand why or how the red hat held him down, but he couldn’t get up. The brown hat came up and stood over Ben’s head, whereupon he bent over, pick up a handful of soil, and threw it on the boy’s face.

“You nothing no more than dirt,” the brown hat said. “I am Bimli of the Walnut Gnomes. I own you.”

Ben was too shocked and too young to grasp the full meaning of what the gnome said. He’d heard what the dwarfs said about gnomes. How they were almost the worst beings in the netherworld, except, of course, for the elves. He wanted to go home. He wanted to tell them his papa was a great sorcerer, but he held that back.

Quicker than the flash of a spark the gnomes changed places and now the other stood over him. As with Bimli, the red hat bent over, picked up a handful of soil, and threw it on Ben’s face.

“You nothing no more than dirt,” the red hat said. “I am Pomelo of the Walnut Gnomes. I own you.”

“You our slave now, human,” Bimli said.

Then he took a long walnut twig from his belt and spit on it. He gave it to Pomelo, who spit on it too, and then gave it back to Bimli. The gnome held it above the side of the boy’s bare neck and plunged it in about an inch.

Ben screamed at the pain. He writhed and wriggled as something searing hot spread through his body. He went away for a long time and slowly came back. The gnomes stood above, glaring down at him.

“We work you hard and you grown strong muscles,” Pomelo said, “and when you grow up and no longer little boy, we sell you to elves to eat. Trust me, they don’t kill you first.”

“There is no escape,” Bimli said as he pulled Ben to his feet. “Where can you go? Come!”

“Come Dirt!” Pomelo exclaimed, pushing Ben until he almost fell, again.

“Come Dirt, we have cage for you,” Bimli said.

Ben walked along between the gnomes as he tried to figure a way out of this. Was Papa looking for him? Was Papa even aware that Unger had taken him? He hoped Papa would come soon because he didn’t think he was going to like it here with the gnomes.

* * * * * * * * *

“Ben! Where are you, boy?” Margo hollered out the backdoor of the cottage. “Supper’s waiting. Ben!”

“He’s not here,” Gregor said as he looked down as his empty plate.

“What do you mean, Gregor?” Edwina asked with a look of fear.

“He’s not here,” Gregor said. “He’s gone across the veil. Damn! Why wasn’t I paying more attention to him?

“Because you were down in the valley helping Percy with slaughtering the hog,” Edwina said. “Where is he?”

“I got to do the guts,” Trudy said proudly.

“Oo! Ick!” Bea exclaimed.

“I don’t know,” Gregor said. “He’s gone beyond my reckoning.”

“I thought you can see everywhere,” Edwina said looking more and more worried.

“He’s in a part of the netherworld where my vision can’t penetrate. He’s very deep in the netherworld. I think some gnomes have him.”

“They came and got him?” Edwina asked.

“He’s not here, ma’am,” Margo said as she walked into the dining area. “I don’t know where he’s gotten off to this time. Unger is nowhere to be seen, either. I spect they’re off together.”

“That’s all right Margo, Gregor is working on it,” Edwina said. “Feed Trudy and Bea, Gregor and I will be out on the porch. We have some things to discuss.”

“Right you are, ma’am,” Margo said. “Okay, you two, get your plates filled with what you want. Trudy, you say the blessing as your brother isn’t here.”

“I hope he never comes back,” Bea said. “He’s nothing but a pain.”

Edwina was probably as shocked as everyone else in the room when she struck out at her daughter, slapping her full on the face.

“I don’t want to hear that kind of talk from you ever again,” Edwina screamed at Bea, who tried to hold back the tears, but was failing miserably.

“Edwina!” Gregor exclaimed.

“Shut up you, too,” Edwina said as she pushed her mate out the door.

“We’ll have to mount a rescue,” Gregor said. “I can’t go that far in the netherworld alone.”

“You can’t go, you have to remain here with Trudy and Beatrice in case they come back,” Edwina said. “We need the dwarfs and whoever else we can get, probably the fewer the humans as possible considering the elves will be in their home world.”

“Why didn’t the magic protect him?” Gregor asked no one. “What about Unger? Do you think he was mad enough to snatch Ben across the veil quick enough that the magic couldn’t stop him? Oh, by the gods, no!”

Gregor sat in the chair as the vision swept over him. Edwina, who had seen this happen only a few times before, knew enough to quietly wait for Gregor to return. She watched as his body trembled horribly and his head jerked around. Spittle dribbled out of his mouth and down his chin. His eyelids opened and closed, but his eyes were empty of sight.

“Mummy, Bea threw up,” Trudy said at the door. “Oh! What’s wrong with Papa?”

“He’s in a trance, he’ll be okay,” Edwina said. “I want you to go back inside and I’ll be in when Papa comes back.”

“Okay,” Trudy said disappearing back through the door.

“Um, er, uh, um,” Gregor mumbled as the trance released him. “Oh, my, I can’t believe Unger actually took Ben. They went deep into the netherworld. I can’t see that far with any clarity, but I think Unger is dead. I don’t know about Ben, but if he’s still alive, he’s with some gnomes who will protect him from the elves.”

“What are we to do?” Edwina asked.

“I’ll go across the valley tonight to speak with Karn, the Dwarf Surveyor. We’ll have to gather a rescue party. Oh, by the gods, why Ben?”

Then he was gone as the magic bore him away to the dwarf mine.

“Madame? The pixie have been made aware of the situation,” Exetor, the leader of the local pixie tribe, said. “You can count on us to assist.”

“Thank you,” Edwina said.

“It’ll be okay, Madame, we’ll bring him back,” Exetor said. “Go on inside and comfort your daughters. Your perimeter is safe tonight.”