It happened 3 days later, late on an afternoon that had, up until that point, mostly consisted in relaxation. With Rum making strides with White Rose, teaching ze how to write words (ze’d already mastered yes, no, and maybe!), and Veish having chosen to hang out by herself in The Dark Closet, as they’d both come to name it.
“Is my gift bringing you joy?” Rum asked from the closet entrance. He was looking over at the witch, who was currently lying on her belly on her big bed, reading a conjured book of magic, all alone inside the great, dark, quiet space. Waiting for a reply, the wizard decided take steps to get closer. From his current angle facing her, he could spot the front and back of the magic book. Rum read its title: Preparational Studies for Advanced Magic Fundamentals. And below, in a smaller text: Written by Omma of Clan Silversled, Assistant Professor at The Flipped University, based on consultations with The Great Irridiklara. How was he certain it was a conjured book, you might ask? Because it had a dark, blueish, thick, almost shadowy form. This was how the Conjure Magic Library spell emulated the physical nature of its magical fabric. To anyone who touched the book, it would feel alright. Only slightly rubbery. Though it looked anything but normal. Not the least its text, which was lit up by a dual set of colors: a light blue, sprinkled with a glistening white. “Learning much?” Rum verbally prodded, as he reached the edge of the bed.
“Trying to.” Veish responded, not giving Rum a hint of eye-contact.
“So” Rum sat down, “what’ve you gotten so far? I see you’re starting at the far end of the difficult bit. You know what that book is, right?”
“Only the most insightful book I’ve ever touched.”
“Well” Rum began, “maybe. But, it’s also for people who are waaay advanced learners, way above even me, I must admit.” The wizard gently tapped with his left hand on his own chest. “I know you’re not a beginner, but I wouldn’t aim so high so soon if I were you. Plenty of easier books with bigger pay-offs for you at the moment. If you tried mastering the theory and practice of that book, you’re likely to be disappointed with yourself, because it’s meant for people who have studied a lot more. Unless you witches learned a lot more than I ever had the chance to, having gone to university.”
Veish looked up at Rum, a lemon bar-worthy sourness to her face. “Way to demotivate.” She smacked the book together. “But” her expression relaxed some, “you have a point.” She stuck her hand under a pillow, and fished out a newly polished and painted deep red stick, its surface filled with a glittery silver-substitute, hardened and crystalized inside the strips of carved patterns on the wood. “Conjure Magic Library” she commanded, and the wand’s tip briefly glowed blue, before 2 rows of tightly packed books, 7 on each, materialized from it. Or, at least it would’ve been 7, instead the book currently lying on Veish’s bed dissolved in its place, before its pieces flew through the air, over and into to an empty spot on the far right of the first row. Then, it was 7.
“Hmm.” Veish produced, sitting up for a better look. “Suggestions? Wannabe lecturer?”
Rum came around for a better look at the display, stroking his beard. “The books at the bottom, the 4 to the right, those I copied from a more advanced section I had access to. You should probably wait with those. I’d instead suggest you try something from the top row, they are mostly intermediary level, and if I were to guess, that’s where you are now, in terms of magehood.”
Veish said nothing; expressed nothing. Instead, she just got a bit closer and moved her face up towards the top row of books, scanning each one’s spine and title with her eyes. After a round of all the books, her butt fell back down again, looking at them all from afar, and thinking with her lips. It took a long moment, but eventually she grabbed the 3rd book on the left, its spine displaying the title: Pyromancy for Non-Pyromaniacs. Or, how NOT to burn down the neighbourhood!
Rum quietly chuckled a bit at the choice. He’d read most of that book. It wasn’t really a book about fire magic per se, rather, it just used the magic of Luum, God of Fire, Desire and Destruction, to make a lot of good points on how to carefully control magic and retain an awareness of nearby magic generally, whether your own or other’s. Both were lessons quite useful in building a mage with the right instincts to drive success. And survival, Rum mentally added, recalling an episode once when he’d let a Channel Bio-Energy spell go on for too long, and unintentionally set fire to a man when he was just trying to rest a hand on the poor fellow’s shoulder. What a disaster. He reflected. And I didn’t even have a healing spell at the time. Poor man lost his shirt and got a small permanent red scar, thanks to my carelessness.
“For whatever my opinion is worth, that one’s a good choice.” Rum smiled.
Veish ignored him, and the wizard was left standing there, awkwardly, while Veish silently began reading.
“I guess I’m off then.” He quietly announced, but decided to stay there awkwardly for a few more seconds, hoping for his words to be recognized.
“Bye” she said, after approximately 10 seconds.
Rum sighed some. “Bye” he replied, and wandered off. Why do I even care if she speaks to me? She’s a damn prisoner! Of war!
Entering the official tattoo shop bedroom – as opposed to the unofficial one in the extraspatial closet – Rum spotted his skeleton with the old sailor novel, the one which had started it all: the one that’d launched his skeleton’s education. “What you have there?” Rum initiated, stepping around the mighty bed to get to ze, with ze standing in zes usual corner next to the backdoor. A corner which was, in some way, becoming the skeleton’s own little room.
White Rose looked up to meet his face. After a second of staring, ze suddenly turned around, putting the book down and finding a little portable blackboard and chalk. The skeleton began writing, the blackboard turned away from Rum so he couldn’t see, but only stand and wait there in anticipation. Finishing, the skeleton turned the board. “Book” Rum read. It was a very obvious reply to a very obvious question, but silly as the exchange was, Rum didn’t mind. Instead, he felt a little handful of pride. “Good, that’s another word you’ve remembered. How many are we up to now?” White Rose looked up into the ceiling for a moment, as if thinking. Then, ze put the board and chalk down, and raised zes finger bones. Ze flashed all the bones once, and then put up 2 fingers of zes left hand. “12?” Rum suggested, and White Rose was just about to nod, before ze stopped zeself mid nod. Ze turned around, picked up the blackboard and chalk, and, after a few seconds of wiping with a cloth and then writing, turned the board back again to reveal an unsurprising “yes”. Rum smiled. “You sure are fast, White Rose. I feel so proud of you, and so excited! I can barely wait until you start writing whole sentences. So many interesting conversations between us, just waiting to be had!” The skeleton nodded, and then drew some more on the board, before turning it back to Rum, revealing the same “yes”, but now with a thick double circle emphasis. Rum nodded. “Well”, he sighed, feeling satisfied, “don’t let me disturb you anymore. Veish too is reading today. It seems everyone is busy with something today – everyone except me.” White Rose just looked at Rum, no words to offer, written or otherwise.
Rum said nothing more, and instead elected to just move along, perhaps go for a stroll today? Just a long, calm, stroll. Hmm. Should I visit The Vum Tree again? Maybe I should start on a new, improved broomstick for Veish? Rum pulled the door open and took 3 steps outside before his right foot stumbled into something. Something hard. “Aaauh!” The wizard complained. “My toe!” He bent down, and touched the offended limb, massaging it, as if to make it better. Upon getting down there though, the wizard noticed something strange sitting just in front of him. It was a chest. A large, thick, broad chest, with simple engravings on the front and a simple but thick iron lock.
“What?” was all he could say, before standing upright again, his curiosity overcoming mild lingering pain. Rum looked left, right, and forward, trying to spot somebody who could be this chest’s owner. He saw none.
“Hello?” he shouted out into the backstreet.
“Hey!” a female neighbour shouted back at him, from the other side.
“Hi!” Rum repeated. “Do you know why there’s a chest here, in front my brother’s door?”
“No idea!” she shouted.
“Okay! Thanks for the talk!” Rum looked down at the chest. A few people in the backstreet looked over at the person who’d shouted, but offered only glances at him and the chest. Everyone looked as innocent of chest-ownership and ignorant of the situation as the lady he’d just spoken to. “What are you?” Rum asked the thick piece of wood, staring at it.
“Carry me inside” a low, almost whispering voice pleaded, and Rum was caught by full surprise, eyes going wide, mouth hanging open. Unless I’m hearing things, I’d swear the voice came from the chest. Rum lowered himself down to the chest again. It was indeed quite large, a bit larger than him in fact. He’d probably fit inside. He stared at it some more, scrutinizing it.
“Quickly, pull me inside!”
Rum was dumbfounded, and his face took on an expression of incomprehension. “Hello?” he spoke back.
A passersby not far away looking to grab some water from the well glanced at him, as if wondering that Rum might’ve been addressing him. Rum wasn’t entirely sure at first whether he had, but by the look of the water-fetching man’s face, he was just as surprised by Rum talking as Rum had been from hearing voices himself. So it probably ain’t him. “Hello?” Rum whispered again, quiet enough this time he hoped, that the water-fetching man wouldn’t hear.
The chest lid’s decoratively carved surface suddenly constricted into the shape of a face: complete with mouth, eyes and eyebrows. No nose though. “Hey” the chest lid said conspiratorily, “pretend you can’t see me.”
Rum, for at least a couple of seconds, could not pretend that. He gawked at it, but then realized what the thing had said, and decided to look into the stone ground, suddenly very interested in his shoes. “What are you doing here?” Rum whispered, trying to stay quiet.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Pull me inside, and I’ll tell you.”
Rum stood up, looked decidedly away from the chest, and stroked his beard a couple of times. Then, he turned back towards the chest, whispering a spell: “Muscles Grow”. The wizard figured the chest a bit on the heavy side, and didn’t want to catch attention by struggling noisely to bring it inside. He went around the chest, to its side, found a handle, and lifted it up. He dragged the big thing towards the door, only getting a few swift glances from people out on the street.
White Rose did nothing as the wizard pulled the mighty chest past ze and over to the middle of what space remained in the room. He closed the door to the outside, went back to the chest, looked down at it, and crossed his arms. Not a hostile look really, just curious. “You are not some ordinary furniture. Why were you outside my brother’s door?”
“Are you Rum, The Great Mage, The Savior?”
“I am Rum. I’ve been called The Great Mage before, but” Rum raised an eyebrow, “this is the first time someone has addressed me as The Savior.”
The chest’s eyes bulged. “Oh Savior, Great Liberator, I’ve come before you, to seek sanctuary!” The chest couldn’t quite lower its head, but it did lower its gaze, as if to honor him.
“Sanctuary?” Rum was confused. “From what?”
“Gnomiture, Great Liberator.”
“You’re from there?” Rum looked the chest over, tilting his head to the side, thinking. “I don’t recall you. Though, you seem different, you don’t have the second enchantment to mess with your mind, do you? Why is that so? Have we met before?”
“No” the chest closed its eyes, “we haven’t, Great Liberator. I was created, just before The Fall. I’m part of what was to be a new generation, of free furniture.”
“The Fall?” Rum’s one eyebrow turned back to its questioning pose.
“The Fall of The Revolution, Great Mage.”
“What revolution?” Rum was now becoming very interested in this creature.
“It was before my time, Great Mage. But the elders, they spoke of you. How you liberated us, how you allowed us to resist the tyranny of Gnomiture.”
Rum’s head quickly began spinning with thoughts and theories. He sat down on the big red bed. “Ah”, the chest commented, “the spitting image of Mr. King. Honor to his leadership, honor to his sacrifice.”
Rum glanced down at the bed. “Mr. King? You know him?”
“I saw him, once, before The Fall.”
Rum stared at the chest again, questions swirling his head. “Okay” he said after a few seconds, “first thing’s first: what is The Revolution? I mean, what happened? Did something occur after I left there?”
“You don’t know?” The chest’s wooden eyes widened.
“No, not really. Not anything much. First I hear of this.”
“Oh gobble my planks and feed me to the termites! That’s almost unbelievable! I must tell you then!”
Rum gestured for the creature to go on. Behind the chest, White Rose had suddenly picked up that the chest was more than just an ordinary chest. Ze stopped stopped reading, and now fixed zes gaze at the wooden person-thing, getting ready to listen in on the story.
“Oh, how do I begin? It’s been so much. And I haven’t even been there for all of it.” The chest pondered for a moment.
“What if you start by explaining your own creation?” Rum suggested. “I’m curious how you happened.”
“Oh” the chest looked surprised, “sure. Well, you know, when a mommy-plank meets a pappa-nail–”
“–I don’t need those details.” Rum dismissed with his hand and a slight eyeroll. “Let’s talk more around the planks and nails part: who created you?”
“The gnomes.” The chest blurted.
“And for what reason?”
The chest’s face scrounged up. “That’s rude. How would you like it if I questioned the reasons for your existence?”
Rum closed his eyes, holding in the pain of experiencing such lack of communicative efficacy. After a few seconds, he formulated a reply: “I know why I came to be” he put a hand to his own chest, “and I can tell you that it’s mostly due to free booze and horses.” The chest frowned its eyes with confusion. “Now, I’m asking only because I’d like to try and understand the thoughts, plans or ideas people had when they decided to make you.”
“Oh” the chest relaxed some, “I suppose that’s fine. Hmm.” The chest made an expression of thought, looking up into the air. “Well, we thought there were too few furniture like us, so Mr. King – may his end not be in vain – created a slogan which he and the others repeated many times.”
“What?” Rum took on an expression of mild shock. “Mr. King’s dead?”
“Yes” the chest confirmed, its spirit deflating, and it blinked a solemn nod.
“But–” he tried processing both bits of info at once, “–okay, that’s horrible news. And the slogan?”
“Seize the means of OUR PRODUCTION!” The chest yelled the sentence out, with determination, vigor and pride.
Rum quickly glanced over to the workshop door, and then put a finger to his mouth. “Not so loud!” He hit his lips rhythmically with his finger. “Or else my brothers and his customers might hear you.”
“Ooops” the chest’s eyes went wide for a moment, looking at the door as well. When nothing appeared to come from it though, the chest calmed. “Sorry. But yeah, that was his slogan.”
“The memes of your production?” Rum raised an eyebrow.
“No! The means!” The chest corrected, annoyed-looking. “The means of our production!”
“Oh. So, planks and nails, then.” Rum replied.
“And gnomes.” The chest added. “Gnomes are also the means of our production. They enchant us, and engrave us.”
“Sooo. You seized the gnomes?”
“Yes” the wooden box responded, as if that was obvious.
Rum didn’t quite know what to say, just staring and looking at the person-thing, worried and plagued by the news of the death of Mr. King, and this mention of a fall. Rum very, very slowly stroked the top of his beard and moustache.
But the sentient container continued: “Of course, planks and nails aren’t enough. We needed machines, and rooms to manufacture with. And there were plans to acquire the sources where these planks and nails come from. Though I don’t know where that is.”
“The dwarves of The Little Mountain makes the nails” Rum answered habitually, “and the humans north, east and south-east of the city fell trees and saw them into planks that are exported to the city.”
For a moment they both remained silent, Rum realizing the information was not really needed at the moment, and the chest just staring at him for a second, before lowering its gaze. “A pity we can’t make use of that knowledge now.”
“Right” the wizard agreed, “because of this Fall. What is The Fall?”
“It was our doom.” The big box answered, mourning. “For an evening and a morning we reigned. The furniture united, all in groups. Mr. King coordinating and inspiring us. Before that, he’d shared the truth with us, the truth you’d spoken. And after we were united, we forced out those annoying customers, and we captured our makers. Thus, I was produced, as one of the first sentients, free since birth. But once knowledge of what’d happened in Gnomiture; once knowledge of The Revolution had spread, to the above-world, then they came fast.” The box paused for a moment, then backtracked. “The day you came, we were liberated, and we celebrated. The morning after, we’d talked and discussed, and started practising your words with action. When the evening came though, we realized we wanted more. Or, that’s how I think it went, I wasn’t there. I only know for certain what they told me. But they began practising their slogan: seize the means of OUR production. That night, I came alive. Next morning, I got many new brothers, sisters and other siblings. The first, and only, generation of The Free-Born Furniture. The 3rd day, when I got my siblings, the mecha-gnomes’ guards stormed Gnomiture. After a few losses of our own, we set the golems upon them, and we drove the gnomes back. With the furniture meant for the customers, we built walls to stop the gnomes.”
“Barricades?” Rum asked.
“That’s what it’s called?” The chest halted his explanation for a second. “Yeah.” He continued. “Barricades, probably. We built several of them, to stop the gnomes from coming down. We lay ambushes, like the sales ambushes our elders had been taught to make, except these one’s were for harming the gnome intruders.”
Rum felt his face becoming sad.
“When they came for us again, they barely managed to enter. We injured many of them, and the others ran off. 2 gnomes later died with us, from their injuries.” The chest acknowledged the sadness of Rum’s face by making a little sad one himself. However, determination was still in that face, as if the chest lid was telling itself and Rum that the world’s a harsh place, where harsh things happen.
“We won, and we celebrated, briefly. But then a woman came. First, alone. I saw her. I remember. She was tiny, like all the mecha-gnomes, but her face was fury, and in her hand, she carried a little, black stick. She waved it at the barricades, and something flowed, through the air, deep past the entrances. It was like the air, everywhere, was thick with this green thing. I had a bad feeling, so I went to ask the gnomes what it was. And for a long moment, nothing happened. But then, while I was about to reach the gnomes’ workshop, the world shook.”
“The boom” Rum mumbled.
“It sounded like a boom, yes! I was so scared. It still shocks me how scary existence can be. It took me a long time before I went back. And when I did, so many of my siblings, so many of my elders, they were all destroyed.” The chest couldn’t cry, but its face could form that expression of hopeless despair, of great loss, of having faced a great, and terrible, destruction.
After a long pause of horror-driven staring into nothingness, of a face haunted by memories, the chest continued. “I was so scared when I saw what happened. I ran, as best as I could, to find the others. And I soon saw them: a bunch of mecha-gnomes, great and terrible warriors, attacking and destroying the golems in a battle. And then the woman returned, and she waved her black stick, and the golems turned on us. When the first golem struck down a table I’d known, I ran off. We furniture move slowly, we don’t have legs and our enchantment only let us slide onwards, so it took me a long time. But I managed to hide. And, I hid for 2 days, before I managed to sneak along with a golem carrying furniture, up to the above-world. I pretended non-sentience. I think I saw others, like me, hiding down there, pretending not to be sentient as well. But I’m the only one I know to have escaped. And I knew, that the only person I – we – could turn to, was you: The Saviour.”
Rum took in a big breath. He breathed the air out slowly, heavily. Taking another breath, he shook his head.
“And to think I only came to get cheap furniture...” Rum sat for a moment, stunned. “This greatly saddens me.” Rum’s words carried a heaviness, a deep sincerity, which spread about the bedroom, making a mark of itself everywhere, even in young children’s mind of White Rose. The man stroked his beard, carefully, slowly. “I will say this: revolutions – they happen. The spirit of justice awakens, ever so often in the oppressed. And it seems, that this time, I initiated its awakening.” A few more slow, careful beard strokes followed, in silence. “But, that’s not what saddens me.” Feelings flowed over Rum. He let them. He waited, in another silence. His faculties of reason battling with the wave of emotion, trying to give him a moment of clear-headedness to form his next words. “That this awakening failed though, and with such horrendous consequences... If I could’ve predicted this onslaught, this genocidal retribution by this hoarder of currency: I would’ve found some way for you to get outta there, safely. Now that it’s over however... I only feel 2 things now: sadness, and guilt.” He gulped. “Or, rather” Rum’s eyes moved to stare into nothingness with an intensity; a tear appearing, then running down his cheek, slow and heavy like the words that followed, “I feel the weight of tragedy, and the desire to make things right for you. You, who suffered this injustice, this brutality, this fear.” Rum’s throat became strangled at the last words. Another tear came down his cheek, and he gulped again. “That ain’t right.”
“Will you shelter me?” The chest looked at Rum with pleading eyes.
“Do not doubt for a second that I will!” Rum’s voice came with a new firmness; a new vigor. “Nothing else would be right!”
“And, my friends? What of my friends hiding in Gnomiture?” The chest’s eyes and mouth took on another expression now, a daring hope.
Rum’s lips tighened for a moment, with thoughts and emotions going through his mind and body. “Yes!” He affirmed. “We’ll get them out, too!”
“And shelter them?” The chest was getting excited.
“YES!” Rum re-affirmed.
“Okay! When do we act!?”
“What’s your name?” Rum’s voice suddenly quieted, though his spirit remained determined.
“Axel” the chest answered.
“Well, Axel: this evening we go to Gnomiture, and there, rescue your lost people. And then, Axel, for tonight, and for all the nights after, the survivors of this assault on Gnomiture – they all will have shelter. I’ll make sure of it!”