JKM Lynch

Recalling my first encounter with Mythilda makes me cringe. I cannot imagine what she must have thought of me. Surely I looked pathetic, clinging to a tree branch for dear life. And the way I was screaming my silly head off. Oh! I feel so embarrassed just talking about it. Why could she not have met me when I was behaving like a charming young woman? I never asked Myth what her initial impression of me was. I could not bear the humiliation. Anyway…

Three of the gnomes head-butted the tree in unison.

The fourth gnome shouted, “Ge’ don ’ere, Biggie! We a-gonna fetch you a lesson.”

Yeah. Gnomes were not well versed in grammar rules. Or with bathing. But they were experts at head-butting things. And at biting things. Gnomes were a nuisance throughout the Holdings. Using their teeth to excavate tunnels, they would burrow into basements. Once inside, they would trash the houses for no reason other than the joy of ruining houses.

Ah. I know what you want to ask. If they used their teeth to dig, then what did they do with the dirt? No one knows. Perhaps they ate it. I remember one time in Dusk when a litter of gnomes burrowed into an outhouse. They repainted the walls with, um, the stuff that comes out of people in outhouses. If they did eat dirt, then… Yuck! Actually, using your teeth to burrow into outhouse waste is disgusting no matter what.

Mythilda surveyed the scene. A bemused grin cropped up on her face. “What’s going on here?”

A gnome glanced at her. Then it jumped back. “Ach!” it cried. “Tha’s a big biggie. Tha’s a ’uge biggie e’ fact.”

“Crickey,” said a second gnome. “We could ’ead-butt tha’ biggie all dey an’ mayke nary a dent in ’er.”

I wish I could claim that I fell madly in love with Mythilda the moment I saw her. That’s how stories are supposed to go. It was love at first sight. Bah! You know, I think writers invented all that love at first sight twaddle because they were lazy. Yes. That’s it. They did not want to take the time to build a relationship between two people. And that’s just silly.

Have you not ever wondered why two characters in a book fell in love? I mean, they met on page twelve. And they fell in love on page thirteen. Sure, adversity kept them apart until the story’s end. But they never spent time getting to know one another. Instead, it was love at first sight. Then the writer moved on, telling of duels and wars at length. Maybe the writer thought that those sorts of things were more interesting. Bah! How many times can you read about how Sir Clarrus the Chaste hewed his foes’ heads in twain before becoming bored?

And while I am going on about it, why are women in stories so dull? All they ever do is sit in a room, combing their hair and sighing. Writers… For a bunch of people who created stories, they had little imagination. I bet most writers never actually talked to a woman. That would explain a lot.

Now… Where was I?

Oh, I remember. No. I did not fall madly in love with Mythilda when I first saw her. The truth is embarrassing, actually. There she stood, wearing a pair of patched up wool trousers. A yellow doublet with crimson bands about the wrists and elbows covered her torso and arms. And over that, she wore a jerkin dyed a dark blue. More importantly, strapped to her waist were two blades: a baselard for her right hand and a rondel dagger for her left. No. I did not see my one true love. I saw someone capable of driving off those foul gnomes.

“Please, help me!” I screeched.

That’s not what Mythilda heard, unfortunately. As you have no doubt noticed, my voice sounds rather squeaky. Do not say that I sound like a mouse, Mister. There will be trouble if you do. Anyway, when I am excited or scared, the pitch of my voice rises a bit—to a pitch previously unknown to humankind, I have been told. This makes it difficult to understand what I am saying—or screeching, rather—at such moments.

What Mythilda heard was, “PEAS, HEEL PEE ME!”

Mythilda winced and rubbed her ears. “Gee, that’s quite a set of lungs you have.”

“Ack!” added a gnome. “Tha’ biggie ’as terned inta a’ow,”

“Alright, you lot,” Mythilda said to the gnomes, “you’ve had you fun, now scram.”

One of the gnomes answered Mythilda by head-butting her shin.

“Ow! Why you little…” said Mythilda as she kicked the offending gnome.

“Don’t hurt them,” I called down to her.

“Don’t hurt them!” said Mythilda as she scuffled with the gnomes. “Do you want—Ouch! Oh! You are going to get it now, you little pest... Do you want to be stuck in that tree all ni—Come here, you… Besides—Hey! Get off my back... Besides, gnomes have thick skin—Ha! You didn’t see that coming, did you... They have to have thick skin, what with cave-ins and—Oh! A boot right in the bum. You’ll be feeling that one for a while... So they can take a beating quite well—Ha! Why are you head-butting your pal? Why are you head-butting your pal... In fact, a good beating is the only way to drive them off. And there!”

With a flourish, Mythilda booted a gnome in its bum. Three of the gnomes began to stagger away, dazed. The fourth gnome was not as frazzled as the others were. Before fleeing, it rushed over to my belongings and picked up a cherrywood keepsake box that I always carried with me. This box was my most precious possession. It…

Look, I am going to wait awhile before I tell you about that box. Narrating the intimate details of my life all at once will slow us down too much.

Oh! I know. I will tell you about myself throughout the course of my story. You will learn about me just as Myth did—a little bit at a time.

So… I noticed the gnome absconding with my box.

“My box,” I cried out.

I jumped down to the earth. Picking a black walnut off the ground, I took aim at the gnome.

Now, I am not much of a fighter. My body just is not built for physical activities such as swordplay. I can slap hard, but aside from that, I am rubbish at activities that require strength and agility. To compensate for my lack of physical prowess, I spent a lot of time taking target practice. My aim is very accurate. Indeed, I am a deadeye. I never carried a sword or even a dagger when I traveled. I carried a crossbow, instead. And you did not want to be on the receiving end of it, no sir.

I threw the black walnut at the thieving gnome. Smack! The black walnut drilled the gnome on the back of its head, knocking the foul creature out. I ran over to the unconscious gnome and retrieved my box.

Looking down at the gnome, I said, “Didn’t your parents teach you that stealing is wrong?”

Then I kicked the creature in its tummy. “So there, maybe that will teach you a lesson.”

“Good throw, Miss,” said Mythilda as I walked back to the tree.

As I neared her, Mythilda suddenly remembered that she was an elf and I was a human. The casual manner she had displayed when I had been trapped in the tree disappeared. Instinctively, she began to act how most elves acted when they were face-to-face with a human. She hunched her shoulders, bowed her head, and gazed at the ground.

“Thank you,” I said in response to her praise. “And thank you for driving off those gnomes.”

Quietly, Mythilda said, “Glad I could help, Miss, um…”

“Oh! Yes, of course. You don’t know my name. How rude of me not to mention it earlier. I’m Izzy, Izzy MacDonald.”

Mythilda continued to gaze at the ground, making certain she did not make eye contact with me. She curtseyed slightly and said, “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Izzy.”

I giggled. “It’s just Izzy, silly. Let’s have none of that Miss stuff, please. I’m not a Miss, I’m an Izzy.”

“As you wish, Mi… Izzy.”

Mythilda’s formality was beginning to irk me. I had always hated how the elves acted around humans back in Dusk. They had never been so stiff in their Faerie Square when no humans were present. Well, save for a wee redheaded girl who had been spying on them. I had always wanted to become better acquainted with an elf. Here was my chance. All I had to do was wear down her reserve. That would not be easy, but I knew I could do it.

I smiled at Mythilda and asked, “And what should I call my heroine?”

“Larkspur, Mi… Izzy, Mythilda Larkspur.”

I giggled. “Mythilda?”

Mythilda nodded her head.

“Really?” I asked.

Mythilda nodded again as her cheeks turned bright red.

“You’re not teasing me, are you?”

Mythilda shook her head.

I huffed. Mythilda was not making it easy for us to become friends. She seemed to be doing her utmost to say as little as possible to me. Her attitude did not dampen my spirits, however. I can be quite stubborn when I want something.

Oh yes, Mister. It is best not to argue with me when I really want something. You will lose. I know how to get my way. And right then, I wanted Mythilda to be my friend. She had lost this battle already; she was just unaware of that fact.

“Well, Mythilda,” I said, “that’s a unique name. I bet you are the only Mythilda in all of Nisse Cul Tairna.”

That made her jump. Few humans used that ancient Innuatti name. Most thought it sounded too foreign. Ironic, is it not? A name that predated the arrival of humans was too foreign. Urgh! Sometimes my species can be such a bunch of imbeciles. Thank goodness my Auntie Julie… I will tell you more about her later… Thank goodness she encouraged me to learn as much as I could about Nisse Cul Tairna and its history.

Anyway… My using that name caused Mythilda to glance briefly at me.

Then she looked back at the ground and muttered, “Perhaps I am.”

“That means you are one of a kind,” I said, beaming at her.

Mythilda said nothing. She just stood there, fidgeting. Clearly, she hoped I would dismiss her so she could be on her way.

Elves always waited for a human to tell them they could leave. I knew this. Everyone did. It was the way things were. I had always hated this custom. But I planned on taking advantage of it now. I would not dismiss her until she stopped being so meek.

Why would I do that? I told you, I had always wanted to become friends with an elf. There was something so romantic about them. Yet they seemed so sad, too. Yes. Okay. You are right, Mister. I was behaving like a silly little girl, not like a proper young woman. There! I admit it. Are you happy? A proper young woman would have thanked Mythilda, given her a few coins, and then sent her on her way. It’s a good thing I was not acting like a proper young woman just then. Had I been, then my life would have been drastically different and not been filled with so much happiness.

Having received no response from Mythilda, I decided to switch tactics. I pretended that I was not interested in her. Instead, I surveyed my belongings that were scattered hither and tither, taking stock of the damage the gnomes had done. Seeing the mess made me tut.

“Oh,” I said. “Just look what those horrible gnomes have done to my stuff. It’ll take me ages to put everything back in order.”

With that, I set about tidying up my belongings, grumbling to myself as I worked. I did not work too hard, though. Mostly I wasted time, waiting for what would inevitably happen.

Another custom adopted by the elves was to be as helpful as possible when dealing with humans directly. “Slop ’em when their backs are turned. But be polite to their faces.” Mythilda was bound to offer me her aid. I hoped that working together to collect my belongings might cause her to relax.

Sure enough, Mythilda said, “Might I assist you, Mi… Izzy.”

“Oh! How sweet of you,” I said, beaming at her once again. “Thank you so much. We’ll get this mess cleaned up in no time if we work together.”

And so, Mythilda began to help me to gather my belongings. A few minutes passed uneventfully when…

“What’s this?” said Mythilda.

In her hand was a book—the book. It was my copy of Nigel Wonker’s Handy Tips for the Adventuring Soul, the definitive guide on the dos and don’ts of adventuring.

“Oh that,” I said. “It’s a wonderful book, full of some really helpful tips for travelers. It helped me today, actually, when I encountered those gnomes up the road a ways. As soon as I saw them, I leafed through it and found some great advice for dealing with gnomes. Mr. Wonker wrote that… Oh. What did he say again? May I see that book for a minute?”

Mythilda handed me the book.

“Thank you,” I said as I leafed through the book. “Ah! Here it is. 'Now let us turn our attention to those irrepressible pests, the gnomes, who delight in causing damage to a house or garden. Small in stature and hideously ugly, the gnome uses its teeth to burrow into basements where it proceeds to destroy anything it can. Expelling gnomes by force is unwise. Their thick hides make gnomes immune to brute strength. Rather, to rid oneself of a gnome infestation, one should tell them that they are cute. Gnomes despise cuteness in all its forms and flee in terror upon being told that they are cute. Where they go, no one knows. It is my belief, however, that they go and roll in some manure or some other foul substance in order to cleanse the cuteness from their humors.' ”

I closed the book and hugged it against my chest. “Oh! Mr. Wonker is such a wise man. But”—I handed the book back to Mythilda—“I must have done something wrong. I told the gnomes that they looked cute: ‘Absolutely adorable’ was the exact phrase I used. But they did not flee. One yelled something like, ‘Ack! Now ye gonna git it, Biggie. ’Ead-butt ’er, boys!’ Then they chased me up that tree.”

“Yeah,” said Mythilda as she leafed through my book, “I’m not sure that advice was all that helpful.”

“I’m sure Mr. Wonker’s method would have worked had I done it properly. I mean, he wouldn’t have put it in his book if it was bad advice.”

“We get gnomes in the house all the time back in the Elvenhome. Telling them that they are cute won’t scare them. It’ll make them mad. Nah. The only way to get rid of gnomes is to kick ’em around a bit, until they give up and go bother someone else.”

“I’m glad your method saved me from them. But Mr. Wonker is an expert,” I said, doggedly defending the author.

“But look here,” said Mythilda, pointing to a passage in the book. “He claims that the best method for dealing with a giant is to tickle the soles of its feet.”

I shrugged. “That makes sense. I hate having my feet tickled.”

“But giants are really big—hence the name. And, in order to tickle the sole of a giant’s foot, you must be underneath its foot—its enormous foot.”

“So?”

“So! What do you suppose a giant would do to someone who tickled the sole of its foot? Someone, I might remind you, who has placed him or herself so conveniently between the ground and its massive foot. Well, I doubt the giant would flee. Most likely, there would be a big splatter of jelly upon the ground with splinters of bone in it.”

“Mr. Wonker’s book was first published fifty years ago,” I said. “And it’s still in print. So there! A lot of people must find it helpful.”

“Wait a second! Nigel Wonker… I know that name. Yeah. Countless people have lost their lives as a result of following his advice.”

“Well, maybe one or two people have. That’s bound to happen. But saying a countless number of people have is an exaggeration.”

“No. I’m sure of it,” said Mythilda. “That book caused a lot of controversy a couple decades ago. All the deaths really upset people. Then there were the people who survived but suffered injuries because they had followed Wonker’s advice. There was talk of burning him for being a witch. In the end, a profession had to be invented to settle the disputes.”

Mythilda snapped her fingers several times and said, “What are they called… Oh! Lawyers. That’s right. Lawyers had to be invented because of Nigel Wonker and his book. He’s a bit of a joke back home. We toast him from time to time—after we’ve had a few too many drinks, usually. ‘To Nigel Wonker! Because of him, we have lawyers. And because of lawyers, human society will crumble someday.’ ”

I could not argue with her. Lawyers were an even bigger nuisance in the Holdings than gnomes. But I did not need to. Mr. Wonker’s book had caused Mythilda to drop her guard. She had forgotten that she was an elf and I was a human. So, on the whole, I felt his advice had done admirably well that day. Oh! I just knew that soon I would have my very own elven friend.

Yes. I was being incredibly silly. It shames me now, but the way I acted back then shows that I had some prejudices about elves, too. Not all prejudices are negative. Mythilda could have been a horrible person, and I would not have minded. I wanted her to be my friend because she was an elf, not because she was Mythilda. What a fool I was. Yes. I still had some growing up to do… Let’s move on. If my face becomes any redder, the veins in it might burst.

So… Mythilda had abandoned her stiffness. I decided to press the advantage Mr. Wonker had afforded me.

“Where’s home?” I asked.

“I live in the City Proper in Dawn. Or I used to anyway.”

“Used to,” I said. “What happened in Dawn? Was it bad? Is that why you left? Are you in trouble? But why come to Narrows? There are better places to which you could have gone. ”

Mythilda hunched her shoulders. She bowed her head slightly. And she averted her gaze. Once again, she was an elf talking to a human.

“I’m just travelling,” she mumbled.

“Are you headed to the City Proper in Narrows?” I asked her. “You were traveling in that direction when you saved me.”

Mythilda shrugged.

“It would be wonderful if you were going that way,” I said. “I need to pass through the City Proper myself. I’m returning home… Oh! I live in the City Proper in Dusk, by the way. Perhaps we could travel together for a spell, at least as far as the City Proper in Narrows anyway.”

Mythilda looked horrified. As far as she was concerned, traveling together sounded like a terrible idea.

“What!” she cried. “Oh, no. No. I’m not going to the City Proper in Narrows.”

“Then why were you headed in that direction?” I asked, making my eyes grow big and round with pretend innocence.

Hehe. Tricky Izzy. As if I did not realize she was trying to get rid of me. Let me teach you another life lesson, Mister. If you want to get your way, pretend to be gullible and look absolutely adorable at the same time. Whomever you are trying to trick will think that you are a pushover. Then, once they have let their guard down, use your smarts to outwit them. It works every time.

It did for me, at least. I am not sure it would work for you. You would have a hard time looking adorable… Oh! Do not glower at me like that. You are just going through an, um, awkward phase right now. That happens to everyone. But, um, washing under your arms a bit more thoroughly would make it slightly less awkward for you… Oh. There’s no need to sulk. I am just being helpful.

Maybe we should return to my story before things get out of hand. So… I was pretending not to realize that Mythilda was trying to get rid of me…

“I-I was confused. Yes. Confused,” said Mythilda. She pointed east and added, “I’m going in that direction.”

“What’s waiting for you in that direction?”

Mythilda blinked and said, “Something.”

I giggled. “Then I’ll go with you. We can meet that something together.”

“I thought you were headed to Dusk.”

“I am,” I said. “But there was some, um, unpleasantness that took place in Dusk before I left. Delaying my return might not be a bad idea.”

“Listen, Mi… Izzy,” said Mythilda. “If you’re in some kind of trouble, then I want no part of it. City Watches and elves don’t mix together well.”

I giggled again. “Oh. It’s nothing like that. I’m not a criminal. And I’m not in trouble. Just some unpleasantness occurred, and my auntie, Julie, thought I should spend some time away from Dusk. She needed a parcel delivered to the Holding Able, so she sent me to deliver it. I was on my way home when those gnomes attacked me. The road east leads to Able, by the way. It’s a nice place. I’d like to visit it again, actually. Auntie Julie won’t mind. She’d say that another trip would do me some good, especially if I had some company.”

Mythilda made one last attempt to get rid of me. “You know what? I’m all mixed up today. I am going to the City Proper in Narrows after all.”

“Oh good,” I said. “I was headed in that direction myself.”

Mythilda groaned. “In other words, you plan on traveling in whichever direction I travel in.”

“Yes,” I said, beaming at her.

“And nothing I say or do will change your mind.”

“Well, I wouldn’t travel with you if you attacked me.”

I gasped, hoping I had not given her an idea for how she could drive me away. “But you’re not going to do that, are you?” I asked her. “Attack me, I mean.”

“What! Why would I attack you? That would be a bit much. I’m not a lunatic.”

“So, what would you do if I followed you?”

Mythilda scratched her head, trying to think of something. But all she came up with was, “Um.”

“Then it’s settled. We’ll travel together to the City Proper. Chop-chop. Off we go.”

Why was I so insistent upon travelling with Mythilda? My fascination with elves played a role, sure. And I did need to pass through the City Proper in Narrows. But, as I had said to Mythilda, I was willing to alter my plans. In truth, Mythilda intrigued me. She seemed a mystery. Yes, she had mostly acted like a typical, docile elf. But she had helped me without pause. Most elves would have kept their heads down and given the gnomes and me a wide berth. Then there were her eyes. They looked far too old for someone so young. But she had seemed so much younger when we had disagreed over the merits of Mr. Wonker’s book. It was as if for a brief moment the sorrows of her life had fallen off her. She had been able to be who she was: a young woman. Yes. Mythilda was a mystery. One I wished to understand.

I know what you are going to say, Mister. “But Izzy, she didn’t want your company.” No, she did not. But she needed it. Both of us realized that later. Besides, I wanted to travel with her. And I knew how to get what I wanted.

Do you know what Myth used to say about me? She said I was deviously sweet. I remember her saying, “You’ve got a lot of brains, Iz. And you possess more cunning than anyone I’ve met. You could be a notorious bandit queen, if you wished. Nisse Cul Tairna is lucky that all you want out of life is a good cuddle and lots of love. Otherwise, all your smarts and cunning might be put towards an evil end.”

Fancy that—Izzy the Bandit Queen. Oh! That makes me giggle. You would be wise to heed her words, however. I am deviously sweet.

Now… Mythlida began to walk north, in the direction of the City Proper. I slung my knapsack over my shoulders and followed a couple steps behind her. Mythilda paused after a few minutes. She glanced over her shoulder. And there I was, bright-eyed and beaming at her. Shaking her head, Mythilda continued onwards.

A few minutes more passed. Mythilda stopped again. So did I. She turned and glared at me. And there I was, bushy-tailed and smiling. The look on her face… Excuse me while I laugh at that memory… Oh! The look on her face was too funny. It asked quite clearly, “Surely this human is not going to follow me around, is she?” And the look on my face answered just as plainly, “Why, yes. Yes, I am.” Mythilda realized all of a sudden that short of attacking me, she could not get rid of me. As she realized this, her face said something new, “Oh, crap! How on Nisse Cul Tairna did I get mixed up in this?” And my face replied, “Shall we carry on?”