"Che Tumn an Clu, Che Byn an Dyul"

The Old Oath. Those words have always followed us and always will. Their meaning lost. Since time immemorial, since the fall of the first gods and the fading of the last Gnomes, since the Elves' treachery and sins of the first being to be called mortal, older than the oldest forests, older than the Treants and Dragons. Words so old that on the eve of solstice the Frost Sprites of the Fae would abandon their duties and gather in our village just to hear them uttered once more. Sometimes laughing in pure joy at the wonder it could bring, others in a terrible sadness for what had been lost and others in such frightening rage that their voices cracked the sky. But come they do, every solstice, every year when they bring the ice and snow, just to hear whispers of a time long past. They feast with us and drink with us, they dance among the snowflakes, they bless and name the newborns and remind us to never forget. Once one of my ancestors asked them what those words truly meant for all had wondered, they say The Frost Sprite looked at him with such pity and with such sorrow that the man would eventually take his own life and the people of the village drowned in despair until a new child was born and marked a new age.

We have always lived by those words we have never forgotten them. Those were the first words I was told when I was born, they were the first words I could ever remember, and they will be the last words I will ever hear.

I never once found it strange, why would I, names just like those words mean something but mean nothing. I never once thought that this was uncommon to the other peoples of the world I thought everyone said it, until the man in the White Cloth came to the village. He was a strange man, he would make the journey into the mountains to our village every few years, no one really counted, no one really cared unless they had a delivery. The only ones who really did where the children, for they had never seen fully grown man as small as a babe.

I hear the creaking of ancient wood and metal and a small thuds upon the ground, I look up from my comfortable tree stump while carving a Rok with my claws, a gift for my sister, and see a small white shape.

The Man in The White Cloth was a small man his full height would barley come up to the knees of a fully grown Jotunn, small enough for a varzol to easily carry him, he was a smallfolk, he had white short hair and strangely long ears, he looked young and my age but I know he had been visiting the village since before I was born 50 winters ago, not long for the wizened of us but certainly long for one that has yet to become of age. I could never imagine how he got one of those skittish things to carry him and his tiny cart. This time he rode a varzol so strange, it had 4 legs, hoofs and head like usual, it's mane and fur was the same color as our skin and the frost sprites.

"Ha" he laughed as the children ogled at the strange colored varzol.

"So pretty" "mommy I want one" "Can we get one as a pet" they cried to their parents.

"Im sorry youngins, this one aint for sale, she’s special, but if you would like some I could bring a couple horses to trade with on my next journey" the White Clothed Man tries to calm the children around him, for they are dangerous to one a small and fragile as he.

"hmph 'hooaarrsssss' such a strange name for the Varzol hmmm?" Belthruum sounded the word out, his voice slow, deep and with the strength of the earth, “the other tongues have better sounding names for them” always ranting over languages even in his old age, I nod to him. He and I have argued over which languages have better sounds for different things all the time, but this is one of the very few times I agree with him, “horse” had to be one of the worst sounding names for a varzol in any language.

“Ah, Hello there Elder Beltrum, I brought a few more translation dictionaries for ya, I brought as many as I could that can translate back to Ishkera’s common tongue, I got a special surprise for ye and the young one today, one of the dead and rare languages you’ve been askin about, but only translated for the Hiskne”

“Hmmmmmmmm” Belthruum hummed in curiosity as the tiny White Clothed man hurried to secure his rattling wagon.

“it is pronounced ‘Bell thruuuuuuuuuum’ small one you tease me every time with that quick name” the horse was startled the tiny man’s teeth rattled. “but I might have one that translates Hiskne to Kevmro, and one Kevmro to Shingha, and a Shingha to Ishkera….5 cups for it”

“Can’t do that I’m afraid, texts written in the tongue of the Gnomes are very hard to come by not to mention this is a translation dictionary, I had to trade 5 fortunes for it. 5 cups would only get me to break even… 10 cups and ill reserve a Bicorn for you.” The old man always offers less than half during the “haggle” but I know he and Belthruum already decided on the price long ago and are just going through the way of the trade.

“hmmm eight cups” he droned and the stones rumbled again, and this time my claw slipped.

“Che Tumn an Clu” I cursed under my breath as I ruined one of the bird’s wooden feathers

The White Clothed Man’s head snapped towards me for a moment and back to Belthruum “eight cups is good yeah, but since you’re my best customer how about six cups and a question answered eh?”

“Hmmmm, deal yesss” Belthruum held out a finger and The White Clothed Man grabbed with with both hands and shook.

“Selvinth, boy go bring me a barrel of today’s Mead, it is a joyous day, we finally have a way to learn the gnomish tongue, Ha, and you said he would never find one, you lost.” the old man chuckled.

“bah, Che Byn an Dyul old man, we never made an official bet” the small man’s long ears twitch at my words. I rise from my stump into the hall behind us and go to the half empty barrel of mead for the day, on slow day me and Belthruum could drink 2 of these. I put it under my arm and set it down near the old man and hand him a new mug, I must, otherwise he’ll forget, and moss and molds will start growing in it. He says it “adds to the flavor” old man to lazy to get up, not that I can blame him for how ancient he is.

“Small one, you’ll like this one, I made it myself, I put in Ending Berries with Raskberrys, you should try it, its better than the ones the old man makes” I proudly pour a mug for me and the old man.

“Bah, you make yours too sweet.” Belthruum grumbles and brings up the small one’s metal barrel with glowing orange runes and fills it up 6 times over.

“And yours too bitter.” I reply. The small one pours himself a tiny mug for himself but hesitates.

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“You said Ending Berries, is this safe to drink?” he asks and hold the mug as if he was holding a mug of death.

“Aye” I say “I gave it some spice with the Ending Berries and gave it the sweetness of life with the Raskberrys, should be safe enough for you smallfolk to drink.” I take a big swig and it burns as it goes down but leaves my tongue and throat feeling like I just drank the purest and coldest waters of the glaciers and then fills me from head to toe with a comfortable warmth.

“And Raskberry’s are?” he asks with a curious and nervous look upon his face, I often forget that the small folk are not just fragile on the outside, but also fragile on the inside for ending berry’s could easily kill them.

“These” I pull the red berries wrapped in cloth out of my snack bag with pride on my face and in my voice, “During the last solstice my sister has been blessed and taught by the Winter Sprites and can grow these year-round, no frozen cold nor blazing heat will touch what she tends to, not until they fall from their bushes and branches.”

The White Clothed Man gasps and looks in shock and awe and even Belthruum has a look of pride on his face. “These are Phoenix Fruits” he whispers reverently “just one of these could regrow a man’s limb, eyes, hearts or heal any sickness they can bring a man back from the brink of death.”

“hmmmm to the small folk maybe, but to us its mealy something to sooth cuts and pain or tasty but rare treat, since little Valkava started her garden there have been enough to use for more than just medicine” the old man sounds almost surprised at that revelation of the small folk, I certainly am.

“I’ll give you one for some of your…. what was it….Bogeman garlic meats?” I need something savory; I have had nothing but sweet things all day.

“YES!” the little man scampers to the back of his wagon and brings out another small cart of the dried beef, “its called Bozemian Garlic Jerky, I remember you asked about it last time.” I pick up the jerky, enough for a big snack, The old man looks at me asking to share, I give him a piece big enough for a taste and he frowns a bit (its not his berry nor his trade so its mine to keep, he doesn’t like garlic all that much either so it would be a waste.). A single berry for enough jerky to last a few hours is a good deal.

I give the Raksberry to The White Clothed Man and he holds it like its a sleeping newborn babe that may being to cry at the slightest bump or sound. He carefully places it in a metal container as big as his head glowing with blue runes, and looks back up at me.

“And you said that you made mead with Phoenix berries?” He looks shocked and a little outraged.

I laugh “of course, you need sweet fruits for honied mead, go on small one, try swig, it’s one of my favorites I’ve made so far.” He pulls up the mug to his mouth nervously, but he has the berry I traded with him next to him just in case. He takes a swig; then I see the pure terror in his eyes as he swallows, and it slowly changes to surprise and then pure joy.

He gasps and hoops and shouts and dances on his little feet “HA, HAHA, what a rush! I feel so alive! I was terrified, it felt like it was going to burn my throat off and turn me into mush!” he coughs and holds his neck “I think it nearly did, but then those Phoenix fruits kicked in and healed me, By the Ancestors what a feeling!” he laughs and laughs.

“How did it taste? Better than the last one we sold you?” I ask, I don’t really care about that I’m more concerned about the taste, anyone here can make a mead that feels good but few can make one that truly tastes amazing.

The small one looks at me sheepishly “Oh, uh sorry big lad, I wasn’t really paying attention to the taste just the feeling.” I gesture to him to try it again, he does with fervor this time. “DAH, that’s good, its sweat but spicy like pepper but then is a sweat mellow at the end and leaves a faint taste in my mouth, I gotta say better than the last one with the Sky cloves.”

“HA, I told you he would like mine better, you lost old man!”

Belthruum looks at me with a frown “ DAH, Che Byn an Dyul boy, we never made an official bet, besides the small folk wouldn’t know good mead even if they were drowning in it” he smirks.

The White Clothed Man snaps his head at me and Belthruum “There, that’s the question I had!”

“The Mead or The Bets?” Belthruum asks.

The small one pulls out a small book. “No, that thing you all always say, I’ve looked it up in every tome, scripture, story and language I could get my hand on, even the old Jotnar tongue, but I have never found anything” he shows us his book and I have to squint to see it, Belthruum’s eyes are not what they used to be, and there on the little page are the words:

“Che Tumn an Clu, Che Byn an Dyul"

Belthruum lifts his brow and strokes his long beard when he hears what I read aloud. But I only look at The White Clothed Man in confusion.

“What do you mean small one? That is the old oath, everyone speaks it no?” I ask for an explanation from the small man.

“No, I have travelled every land far and wide on every continent, swam in the undercities of the merfolk, tunneled in the mountains with the dwarves, rode on the great planes with the Gnolls, trained with Minitours on the Island of Minos, flew in the skies with the Drakes cities and the Harpy trees and so much more I could go on for hours! I’ve met almost every species that still exists, heard almost every language that has ever been spoken! But every time I return here, I hear that phrase, and every time I leave determined to find out what it means and where it came from. But every time I fail and find nothing, I have been determined to find out on my own because I knew you would never just tell me, but I have found nothing. I hoped that the tomes of gnomes might have something, even just a little hint but nothing, I have given up, so I ask you now instead of trying to get another few barrels of your mead that could buy entire kingdoms!” he finally finishes, out of breath and turns to me with a desperate look in his eye.

“I’m sorry Small one, but I cannot tell you” I see him grow desperate.

“Name your price please, I’ll give you everything in my Wagon of Many Lands, teach you anything and everything I know please, it has been eating at me for over 60 years, every time I hear those words spoken I feel something, something in my very soul, something that makes my blood boil in such shame that I can’t even speak the words, something that breaks my heart just a little from guilt and sorrow every time I read or hear it.”

“I-I don’t, I-I can’t” I stutter. It is not for me to tell. I am no Guardian, I am merely an apprentice.

“That is not for you to know Small one” Belthruum voice rumbles, the wind begins to howl, the birds flee, the children are silenced, He rose to his feet for the first time in months, leaving an indent in the stone, larger than any other Jotun in the village, and sturdy like the verry mountains. I and those in the village look towards the old man with respect, reverence, and a bit of fear; for at this moment he speaks not as Belthruum the Elder but as The Guardian of Rock and Stone with the weight and the authority of the earth itself.

“Please! I must know! I have shown others, every fellow elf that has read or heard those words feels the same as me, every Drake, Harpy, Hobgoblin, Gnoll, Fraeling, Centaur, merfolk, Troll, Hueman, dwarf and even the damned Demons feel something when they hear those words” he rants and pleads, “The Gnolls and Goblins howl in rage when hearing it, the Dryads weep and the Merfolk laugh, they beg me each time I see them for the meaning. Its only your folk of the Tall, the Jotun that never seem to be affected by it, you must know please, answer me!” The elf cried to Ancient Guardian, but he remained silent, his expression was like stone, unyielding.

“Please Belthruum, please answer my question!” The White Clothed Man became desperate, grasping at anything that could get Belthruum to even speak the wind howling even more fiercely and the ground rumbling so hard that The White Clothed Man fell to his knees shouting.

“W-We made a d-deal! The book of the Gnomish tongue for 6 cups of mead and an answer to a Question! We shook on it! I know what that means to your kin! You must honor it! Please tell me anything!” the elf pleaded and this time The Guardian of Rock and Stone clenched his claws and furrowed his brows, what felt like ages but was only seconds, The Guardian released his hold on the earth and Belthruum sat back down, the Earth slumbers once again.

I finally breath in not realizing that I was holding my breath, the street is cleared, everyone has already fled and the elf is on the verge of passing out.

Belthruum stares at the elf, “Hmmmmmm, tell you anything…that I can do, but I will not tell you anything truly important, Child of Traitors.”