Read Online King of the Scepter'd Isle (Song of Earth) by Michael G. Coney - Free Book Online Page B

followed, concealing themselves amongthe decaying roots of the oak. They waited fearfully as the snapping of twigs and the rustle of leaves came closer. “You see what I mean?” whispered the Gooligog to his companion in hiding.
    “What’s that you say?” yelled old Crotchet, who was deaf.
    The forest fell suddenly silent. Then: “Is that gnomes?” came a shout.
    The voice was a gnomish piping, rather than a giantish roar. “It is gnomes!” Fang shouted back. “Who is that?”
    “It’s Jack o’ the Warren and Pong! And Bart o’ Bodmin!”
    The gnomes emerged from cover and greeted one another. Bart introduced himself Such a meeting of gnomes would normally have been an occasion for feasting, but food was scarce and beer was nonexistent in this inhospitable new world. So the gnomes contented themselves with sitting around the base of the blasted oak and nibbling on raw mushrooms.
    “Would it be safe to light a fire?” Pong asked after a while.
    “Kindle the Wrath of Agni, you mean?” exclaimed Bart. “But that’s against the Kikihuahua Examples!
I will not kill any mortal creature
,” he began to recite unctuously. “
I will not work any malleable substance. I will not kindle the Wrath of Agni. In this way I will take a step toward living in accord with my world and
—”
    “Yes, we know all that stuff,” said the Miggot impatiently. “And we don’t kindle the Wrath of Agni. Broyle the Blaze does it for us. He’s accepted eternal damnation. I see you’re wearing a brass belt buckle. That’s a malleable substance, wrought by the Accursed Gnomes. You’re a bloody hypocrite, Bart o’ Bodmin.”
    “We don’t light fires in Bodmin,” muttered Bart stubbornly.
    “We do here,” said Fang shortly, throwing sticks into a heap. There was something about Bart that he didn’t quite like, and it worriedhim to see Pong fooled by this suspect gnome. “Kindle the Wrath of Agni, Broyle!”
    “I … I don’t have the sacred torch,” said Broyle the Blaze unhappily. “Somehow it got left behind in our old world. Woe is me. I’ve betrayed the trust.”
    “You’ll just have to light another torch,” said the Miggot. “It’s a small price to pay for the warmth and comfort of us gnomes.”
    Broyle began to tremble. “It’s happened too often,” he said. “Often I’ve forgotten to maintain the sacred torch because I’ve been contemplating, or sleeping, and I’ve had to kindle the Wrath of Agni all over again. I’m a disgrace to the Firelighters Guild, and one day Agni will strike me down with a bolt of lightning, you see if he doesn’t!” He glanced at the sky. “That looks like a very black cumulus up there.”
    “Pull yourself together, gnome,” snapped the Miggot.
    “Is that how you do it?” asked Bart. “You have one gnome take on the responsibility, and he lights all fires from the same torch? Isn’t that bending the Examples to suit your selfish purposes?”
    “Broyle prays for forgiveness,” said the Miggot. “And anyway, it’s
kindling
the Wrath of Agni that’s against the Examples. There’s nothing wrong with
maintaining
the Wrath of Agni if someone else has kindled it for you. Broyle kindles the Wrath once, then lights everybody’s fires with the sacred torch. At least, that’s the principle of the thing. But the torch keeps going out.”
    “So what are we going to do?” asked Fang, regarding the pile of sticks.
    “Oh, to hell with you, Broyle!” shouted the Miggot, losing patience as the firelighter shot another glance at the sky. “I’ll light the bloody fire myself. I happen to have an example of the Wrath of Agni in the Sharan’s new cave, to keep her warm,” he informed the gathering at large, “and if that offends anyone, bugger them, that’s what I say.”
    Everybody maintained a polite silence as the Miggot stumped off among the roots of the oak, to reappear with a blazing brand.He thrust it among the sticks. Flames spread, and the Miggot grunted in