Who Wants to Get Badgered?

(January 2012)

2-A Last New Year

In what humans would call January 2012 and on an unusually warm morning for that time of year, two Gnomes emerged from a concealed burrow that opened between two boulders on a tall hill overlooking the Mystery Shack and, beyond it, some of the town and the split cliffs far away.

The cliffs glowed golden as the sun came over the rim of the world. Jeff took a long, deep breath of the morning air. He shivered a little. Even a warm morning in a Gravity Falls January was chilly in the early hours. He hunched deeper in his jacket—retrieved from the town dump, where Old Man McGucket had offered to fight him over it.

That made very little sense. Jeff found the jacket in a bag of discarded children's clothing and had no value. McGucket had no conceivable use for it. At best, the jacket would fit only an eighteen-month-old human toddler.

McGucket didn't really need or want the jacket, but whenever any creature—whether a random human or a homeless dog or anything else—invaded the dump that he thought of as his yard, he would fight it for the least theft (as he saw it) of his property (as he believed). True, at the time he thought Jeff was a hallucination, but hallucinations were easier to fight than real things.*

Anyway, Jeff had eluded the crazy old man and had escaped with the hooded, faux fur-lined jacket, he had industriously cleaned it, and he'd found that, with the hood pulled up and with a bandana across his face when the wind was sharp, the jacket allowed him to get out and about in relative comfort even when the bitter weather would have frozen a typical Gnome.

He wore it now, hood down, and over it he'd draped around his neck and shoulders a thick blanket, another dump rescue. Before they started out, Jeff had respectfully insisted that the Queen dress warmly, too, and she wore a long fuzzy blue robe, plus earmuffs.

Earmuffs had been a Jeff invention. All right, be fair, he had seen the Gravity Falls elementary-school kids wear such things on cold days. Since the Gnomes rounded up a good deal of road-kill mammals, they had piles of preserved pelts, which they normally used as bedding for their children. But with small discs of a rabbit pelt clipped out and sewn to a long scarf that could be wrapped around the head and tied beneath the chin, they served as ear warmers.

A light breeze, unfelt at ground level, softly rustled the tree branches far overhead, and even hunched in his jacket, hands in the pockets, Jeff shivered a little.

Queen Klemmatha said in her slow, gentle voice, "The sun will soon warm you, young Jeff."

"I'm all right. My Queen, are you cold? I could start a fire."

The Queen looked about. As the winter waned, crisp brown pine needles had fallen thick on the dead grass. "No need. The woods are dry. A fire would be a danger. And I am not worried about the cold. The wind is dying, and the sun will soon be warm enough. This is the first sunrise I have seen in this new year."**

"There was too much snow for us to come outside when the year changed," Jeff said.

The Queen laughed quietly. "I am glad to have seen this one. I do not think I will see a sunrise in the next new year."

They watched the sun climb, bringing light and welcome warmth. Blue-gray smoke began to curl from the metal kitchen chimney of the Mystery Shack. The breeze had faded away to nothing, and now the world was so still that the smoke went very nearly vertically into the air. "Stan Pines is awake," Jeff said.

The Gnomes knew of Stanford Pines. When he took tourists for rides on the Nature Trail, reeling off his spiel, Gnomes hidden in the brush overheard him. Those who understood sufficient English, and by then about a third of the younger Gnomes could comprehend and speak it, Stan's cheerful, boisterous words were amusing. "Folks, you might see some strange things on this trip! They say men with heads like bulls' live in Gravity Falls! Keep your eyes sharp—you might see a sprite or a pixie cavorting in the forest. Would I lie to you? Hey, I'm Stan Pines, Mr. Mystery! Oh, get your cameras ready, you'll want a photo of the inexplicable Talking Rock, engraved in mysterious symbols that no living man can understand, coming up on the left . . . ."

Cameras. The Gnomes knew what they were for and a little of how they worked. A camera could throw a moment of time onto paper so you could come back long afterward and see pictures of memories.

In fact, Stan Pines had often tried to photograph Gnomes. He was the one human who most often glimpsed the Gnomes, because he was on the Mystery Trail every day, and many of them lived in a stand of tall trees in a sheltered hollow that the trail bordered for a hundred yards or so.

Had Stan been lucky, he might have snapped a clear photo of a Gnome or two. However, such luck as he had worked mainly with cards and dice, and he could never sneak up on a Gnome because the little redcaps have ways of detecting nearby humans. It probably is largely based on hearing because Gnomes certainly have sensitive ears.

The Gnomes say, though, that even at the distance of a mile they can also detect the scent of humans, which they claim is very sharp and distinctive. They feel vibrations, too, with the soles of her feet, and they even say they can feel body heat at a surprising distance.

Whatever senses Gnomes use to detect humans, they are about ninety per cent accurate, and Stan had never succeeded in clearly photographing a Gnome. The Gnomes were not really sure what Stanford was up to, trying to capture their images with the device he pointed at them, but why take chances?

Anyway, invariably just before Stan tripped the shutter on his camera, the Gnome in his sights Blinked. "Blinking" was their term for using short-range teleportation. Essentially, in a microsecond the Gnome ceased being Here and resumed being There, somewhere within about a thirty-four-yard radius. Out of three dozen photographic attempts, all Stan had to show for it were pretty fair shots of the Mystery Trail, the underbrush, or the sun-dappled leaf-mold under the trees, plus exactly three pictures that showed blue-and-red blurs, taken just at the moment that the Gnome Blinked away from Stan.

And yet, though the Gnomes hastily got away from him, they did not fear him. Stan seemed harmless. "He has never offered to trap or hurt any of us," the Queen said.

"His house is very . . . different from others," Jeff observed. He was one of the few Gnomes that would occasionally slip inside human homes. "He has strange things. A statue of a Shaggy, but wearing some white garment. A small Soaring Lizard, hanging from his ceiling. I think he is interested in those things the humans rarely see. That includes us."

"The sun is warming the stones. Let us sit."

"One moment, my Queen." He removed the blanket from his shoulders, folded it into a pad, and placed it on a low boulder. "This will make you more comfortable."

Klemmatha gratefully nodded. Jeff held her hand to steady her as the old Gnome carefully eased herself down to sit on the boulder. "I cannot truly see the future," the Queen said. "No Gnome can, not even the wisest sages. I cannot tell you when I will leave this world, but the time is not far away. Don't weep, Jeff. When the moment is here, I will leave the world without regret. I did not ask you to come to the surface to mourn what has not yet happened."

"It is hard," Jeff said. "I have been your advisor now for a thousand years."***

"And you have done well," Klemmatha said. "Your efforts have been fruitful. I am pleased. Wipe your eyes, please. Blow your nose."

Jeff did. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Partings are times of sorrow, but I wish you not to give in to despair. This morning I want to change our positions for a while."

"I don't understand, my Queen."

"I mean," she said, "this morning I wish to give you advice."

"I will listen," Jeff said.

For some moments, Klemmatha did not speak her advice, but sat quietly in the warming sunshine, her hands thrust beneath the plush, wide belt of her robe. When her voice broke the silence, even then it was not to offer advice, but to ask, "How much do you remember of the old, old times when we Gnomes lived only in burrows beneath the earth?"

"Not very much," Jeff admitted. "My parents often tell of that time. They spoke of the Mole Men and of the creatures from the Crawlspace that made life hard. They talked of how, no matter how much we harvested, the food always ran out in the winters."

"I have lived much longer and I remember much more than you," the Queen said. "And I tell you, that our lives now, lives lived beneath the sky where the hawks may dive upon us, when the foxes may prey on us, when we must be always aware of the humans around us and be careful to escape their vision, even with all that, Gnomes now live better lives than they ever did when our rulers were called Under Queens, and when our burrows lay overflowing with darkness. Some Deep Gnomes say they yearn to return to the times when no one came above ground, except for certain festivals. In the old times, a Gnome might pass three years in darkness without once breathing open air or seeing sun or moon."

"I have heard some of the Ferals say such things," Jeff admitted. The Ferals were Gnomes who had left the tribe, and yet dared not return to the burrows to live permanently.

Klemmatha shook her head sadly. "One year would persuade them that we can no longer bear that kind of existence. They would see their children perish of hunger. They would see our numbers dwindle. We would become weaker and weaker as a people. It would be an evil time. But it is difficult to speak to those who think we should return to the depths. They are stubborn. They resist learning new things."

"I know that," Jeff said. He smiled sadly. "When I was a child, the others mocked me because I loved to learn. Some of them knew that I liked to be around humans, and they told me I was not a true Gnome."

"But there lies your strength," Klemmatha said. "You cannot see it, but I can."

"I've never thought I was strong."

"You have helped us through the great change," the Queen said. "We have moved from the depths to the heights of the trees. Now the surface is not a threat and a fear, but the place where we live. We see the sun every day in the warm months. We do not work as hard, and in the cold times, we do not die in great numbers, as even our Feral brothers and sisters who live in the forest still do. Life is better for us."

"I only did what seemed right to me," Jeff said. "That's all. Sometimes I was mistaken."

"No one asks for perfection," the Queen said. "Listen, now. When you choose the new Queen—"

"Please don't ask me to do that. I can't do it," Jeff objected. "Not on my own!"

"You must," the Queen told him, her tone firm. "I give you this task. You alone and no other. The responsibility lies in your hands, Jeff. When you choose the new Queen, as I have said, you must not name a Gnome. It is vital that you choose one—whether human or other creature—that will listen to you and follow your advice."

"But the new Queen may wish to have her own advisor—"

"No. No. Choose a Queen who will listen to you," the Queen insisted. "You know my mind as no one else does. We think alike on these questions, you and I. I tell you this: When the new Queen takes the rule, many of our people will turn against her, and so against you. Some will become feral Gnomes, living in the forest. A few may even vanish into the ancestral tunnels, believing wrongly they will live better there. Yes, I know that some Civilized Gnomes will desert you, but enough will remain. And as the Ferals realize that life here has become better than existence on their own or below the earth, some at least will come back. What should the Queen do if the deserters ask t return?"

"I think if that happens, we should accept them as if they never went away," Jeff said. "What is good for one Gnome must be good for all. We can't turn away even those who mock us or even tell lies about us. If we reject even one Gnome, we turn our backs on all hope."

"And how would you persuade the Civilized Gnomes to accept the deserters without anger or resistance?"

"The Queen thinks for the tribe," Jeff said. "If the Queen tells the Civilized Gnomes how to behave, they will do it, even if they grumble a little."

Klemmatha reached out to grasp Jeff's hand. "That," she whispered, "is why you must serve the new Queen, advise her, steer her, and lead her to think as you and I do. Even if you must think for her. You must do this for many years."

Jeff felt a little sick. It was as though he were far underground, and a tunnel suddenly collapsed on him. He felt the weight of thousands of lives, all on his shoulders.

"You tell me to choose a human queen. Humans don't live as long as Gnomes," Jeff pointed out. "If a human becomes our Queen, she may not live enough years to make all these changes."

"I think any Queen will live just long enough. The time of Queens is coming to an end," the old woman said calmly.

"What?" To Jeff, that was as strange a statement as "The moon is leaving forever tomorrow night." No Queen? Gnomes needed orders, direction. They had to have a Queen. There might as well be no earth, no air.

"If I had another twenty seasons, I might be able to do it. I might lead us to the time of no Queens after me. But for a time yet, you must guide the Gnomes. Eventually they can learn to live without a Queen. That time is coming soon, but not yet."

"I can't even begin to explain that to the others," Jeff said.

"I have spoken to some of the older women," the Queen said. "They will help when the time comes. Look at the humans. They have no Queen. Humans mainly think for themselves. And if they need leadership, they choose those who will guide them."

"That doesn't work too well," Jeff said cautiously. He had seen Blubs and Durland haul away men and women who sometimes came back and who sometimes were put into the strong stone building they called the penitentiary. He had heard some humans, even Stanford, complain about the poor leadership of mayors and governors and presidents.

Not that Jeff quite knew what a governor or president was. A president, he grasped, was kind of a male Queen, or the equivalent of one. Maybe a governor was like Jeff, an advisor, a helper. A mayor was a very old man who did very little.

As though she were hearing his thoughts—though no Gnome had the power of reading minds—Klemmatha said, "We must come to a time when ordinary Gnomes make our laws and lead us in peaceful ways. We have a role to play in the life of this valley. I feel that in my bones. May I advise you about something else?"

"Anything, my Queen."

"Then I say that before the time of drought is over, a great evil is coming. I cannot see what it is, for as I said, no Gnome can read the future clearly. I know only that some great evil comes from beyond our world and it covets our world. If all the creatures of the valley do not unite—we are lost. We and all the animals and all the humans alike. I think Stanford Pines may help you. And something more—young humans are coming." She smiled. "Even they do not yet know this. But I feel they have a part to play. If I am not here when this begins to unfold, remember this day, and remember my advice."

"My Queen, do you know this? We cannot foresee the times to come," Jeff said.

Her smile became mysterious. "I cannot see it. I speak only of what I feel. I feel it in my old bones, and my old heart, and my old head. Wait and see, young Jeff. Wait and see." With some effort she stood. "For now, let us go into the forest near our place of memory."****

"Why?" Jeff asked, afraid that she was going to speak of the time of her death.

"Because a badger has taken up a home there, in a den near the Gack of Doom."

Jeff turned pale. "They say that is a cursed land!"

"We will have to chase away the badger, though," she said. "We cannot honor our dead if that creature is there to attack us. Why is a badger an evil creature for Gnomes?"

Jeff mumbled, "The badgers have silent paws and hungry jaws. They can pounce so quickly that no Gnome can Blink to safety."

"That is true. But we're not approaching the badger den today, Jeff. We are only going to take a quick look—to spy out the openings that might lead to the den, to look for tracks in the dirt."

"Maybe we should bring a force of Gnomes to deal with such a creature."

"We will bring them when the time is right," Klemmatha said. "Come with me now. There is no danger for you."

She was right—for the time being. She did not die that day in January.

Nor, sadly, did they discover clues to the badger's whereabouts.

Notes:

*McGucket had met Jeff before, back in the 1990s, but at that time he was on a serious mental slide. He felt threatened when he ran across a foraging party of three little men, which happened to include Jeff, and resorted to his memory-eraser gun to get the picture out of his head. Then recently when he saw Jeff making away with a tattered, though heavy, toddler's coat, he first thought Jeff was an illusion. By the way, McGucket lost the fight, even though Jeff didn't fight back. By the winter of 2011, McGucket's mind was so far gone that it couldn't even send him a Christmas card.

**The Gnomes' calendar, as suggested by their having only eight months, did not exactly overlay the human one. However, even when they were a deep-digging race back in Europe, the Gnomes came to the surface often enough to observe that at a specific time in the dead of winter the time of sunshine stopped getting shorter and began getting longer again. They had set the date of the New Year on what humans call December 21, and so their New Year came only about ten days before what eventually became the human New Year. Oh, all right. Up until the year 1752, New Year's Day in Britain and the American colonies was March 25. When the British junked the Julian calendar and adopted the Gregorian calendar, among other changes New Year's Day was set as January 1.

***Jeff had been acting as the Queen's advisor for something like forty years at that time. His calling it a thousand is another example of Gnome arithmetic.

****The place of memory was, specifically, the place where the Gnomes interred their dead and mourned their passing with rituals. And jam. Once they had used the slime from underground mushrooms, but they'd found strawberry jam eased grief much better.