[Original Novel] Pariah of the Little People, Part 16

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“That’s how my face looked when I first found them too. Pretty amazing, huh.” I didn’t know what to say. A billion different questions clogged the way out through my mouth such that I just stood there for some time, saying nothing. Then I remembered that day out in the field when I showed Tyler the wreckage of a sky settlement.

He never asked me what it was. Seemed to instantly recognize. Just wanted to know where I found it. He must have known all this time! What a waste it’d been to hold it back from him. So I filled in the blanks. Told him of my own little people, the city in the woods, the sky bases, the colony at the bottom of the lake. Everything but the witch, on account of his beliefs.

He listened, eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly agape. As shocked to find someone else who knew of the Homunculi as I was. But then, it made some sort of sense. Until now I’d met nobody in all the world as sweet, trusting and forgiving as Tyler. Who’d endured so much, but remained so clean inside despite it. Of course he could see them. Of course they’d allow it.

We carefully scaled our way down over the cluttered rocks, not quite boulders but still a pain to surmount. Then slowly approached the edge of the city built upon the quarry’s sandy, desert like expanse, taking care not to step on any of them. A wonder to behold! They’d done here what they always seem to do in any new place.

Explore. Colonize. Invent. Improve. “I brought them some of this stuff, but they built the rest” he admitted, pointing out a transparent vinyl umbrella in particular. They’d removed the handle and turned it into a sort of agricultural dome tent, the inside of which was lush with various hydroponically cultivated plants. Herbs mainly, of an appropriate size for their use.

They all wore brown tunics, and had devised their own set of technologies for thriving in this environment. I spotted several of them scaling a large pile of rocks, wearing something like a backpack mounted set of mechanical spider legs, each leg many times longer than the operator is tall.

It made easy work of climbing over adverse terrain, and each looked to be powered by the wind up mechanism found in walking robot toys, music boxes and the like. Tyler claimed credit for this as well.

“Early on I busted open any wind up toys I had and gave the doohickey inside to them. I just kept asking Dad for more toys like that and he kept buying ‘em. I wanted to see what they’d make out of it.”

I could remember countless times I’d scrounged up various trinkets to bring those little guys for the same reason. Then I saw a bunch of what I thought were dragonflies buzz past. They spiraled around something like an airfield, then came in for landing. I balked. They were all Homunculi, wearing a set of mechanical dragonfly wings on their backs! Each powered by the same wind up mechanism from before.

“Aren’t those pretty? They invented them after a raid by some other kingdom, or tribe. I don’t know. The invaders wore white robes and rode praying mantises. It was awful! So many died, there was nothing I could do, I didn’t want to hurt any of them in spite of everything. But the white robed ones were repelled, and since then these quarry dwelling fellas have been working on their own flying machines as a countermeasure.”

I watched in awe as a motorized winding machine docked to one of the flight packs, then with a great effort and commotion, rewound the spring inside it. One of the little brown robed fellows then removed the pack, strapped it on, and took off. Flew right past my head, receding rapidly into the distance in the direction of the woods we came from.

Simply marvelous! Most of the buildings were domes, made from some sort of cloudy glass. I noticed subtle ribbing all down the sides and wondered why until I saw a new one being printed. They’d built a mechanism that smelts sand into glass and deposits it layer by layer to form habitable structures.

The result was a gorgeous smattering of domes, spires and more than one grand palace which almost looked as though made from crystal. In the center, a familiar statue of me holding a baseball bat to the sky, with Winston by my side.

Various long, segmented vehicles crawled about. Clearly based on the same design as the six wheeled transport their ancestors built back in the forest before it burnt down. These new machines had puffy, fat tires each the diameter of a coffee mug, trundling across the dunes carrying ore to be refined.

Mining seemed to be their principal occupation. Scanning the surrounding jagged, rocky walls of the quarry, I realized it made for exceedingly difficult terrain to negotiate if you were Tyrant sized. Up against even much smaller defenders, equipped with machines which make traversing such terrain a breeze, you’d stand no chance of reaching the sands in one piece.

As I studied the landscape, I failed to notice the small crowd gathering at my feet. When I did, it was a trick not to accidentally trample them in surprise. Moreso when the significance of it struck me. These ones would acknowledge me! Here I stood, and there they were, surrounding my shoes in warm reception.

I carefully knelt to get a closer look. Men, women and children milled about, talking excitedly about my arrival. Could it be that some of them recognized my face? Sporadic gestures back towards the statue in the center of their city confirmed it. Oh, the relief. The powerful waves of relief threatening to overwhelm me!

But why? What changed? I turned inward to perform an inventory of my heart. At the same time I wracked my memory. All I could come up with was Tyler’s spiel. That, by seeing my own warped perspective of the world reflected in the Bible’s, I’d at last brought myself to reject it entirely.

That dreadful exam question about the global flood convinced me of who I want to be. Tyler’s summation of the Biblical worldview convinced me of who I don’t. In a very real sense, he saved my soul. Just not the way he meant to.

I extended my pinky, slowly and delicately towards the crowd. Several approached and placed their hands on the tip. I was helpless but to tear up. The reunion I’d longed for all these lonely months. Tyler asked why I was crying. I couldn’t think of what to say. I didn’t want him to know they’d abandoned me. Much less that I’d deserved it.

I became distinctly aware of the sunshine on my back. Of the warm sand beneath me. The natural beauty of the forest around the quarry, and the general beauty of life. The stormclouds had been banished, forever with any luck. Now there was only light, warmth, color, sound and comfort.

It was as though a monochrome filter I’d been looking through until now had suddenly been removed, and I could see the world as it really is. No longer a hostile, barren place but an intoxicating mess of differences, of exciting commotion and possibility.

I’m going to make it, I thought. Through the school year. Through the gauntlet of students chanting “monkey boy” at me, through a life I’d until now seen more as a burden than a gift. An unbearable slog I trudged through only for fear of hurting the few I love who would be devastated should I cut my own suffering short.

“I can do it” I muttered. Tyler cocked his head. “With you” I clarified. “I can do it. I’ll make it through, if you’re my friend. If you believe I can do it, then I can.” He smiled gently, knelt next to me and took my hands in his. Gratitude flooded my heart. That I’d met him. That I’d met Jennifer, however short our time together was. Grateful simply to be alive.

For hours after that we ran through the woods, laughing, hiding, shooting imaginary lasers at one another and whooping like crazed gibbons. It was during this romp that I stumbled across the next settlement. After a while he backtracked to see where he’d lost me to, and set about explaining that the initial settlement had long since split in two.

These little ones wore green. They lived in houses strung up among the trees, as their ancestors once did in the old forest. But also in various outposts mounted to the trunks, flitting between them by way of those wind up dragonfly exoskeletons. How’d they get their hands on those?

As if in answer, I spotted a caravan of the brown tunics at the base of a tree, selling their wares. My eyes bulged. Once again Tyler couldn’t understand what surprised me so. When I spelled it out for him and demanded to know how he’d brokered any sort of peace between the two tribes, he told me about the contagious madness of the white houses.

“Early on, they got along famously. Each produced something the others needed. They traded and intermarried freely. But then, funny buildings began to appear. All the same, little white houses kinda like mine but with metal symbols on top. The brown robed fellows had their own symbol, and the green robes had a different one.

The little guys would go into the houses normal, but come out acting weird. That’s when the fighting began. Skirmishes at first, then raids, then full blown wars. I was loathe to interfere, but when the death became too much to bear, I set about flattening those little white houses. They’d rebuild them, but I just destroyed them again, making sure each time nobody was inside.

I had to do it dozens of times before they gave up rebuilding ‘em. Once or twice, out of curiosity about what goes on in there, I lay down on the ground so I could peer in through a window. One of them would stand up on a stage before a podium, wearing some grand decorated outfit and tall white hat. He would gesture wildly and speak excited words, though I could not understand.

Why? I still don’t know. Something about those places disrupted their feeling of oneness, instead dividing them. It just spread and spread, like a rash or a mold, until I put a stop to it. I fear what might’ve happened if I’d let it continue. Their weapons are only becoming more powerful by the minute.”

I laughed, refusing to explain why when he asked. Instead I called him a genius, lavished him with praise for thinking of such a thing. Sweet, genuine Tyler. So like him to recognize exactly what had to be done, yet not realize the larger connection. Nor did he need to, I felt. He’d already done it. Saved my soul, even showed me the way to save the little ones.

So I threw my arms around him. We stayed like that for most of a minute before his father interrupted us. “What is this, Tyler? What in God’s name is this?” He pushed me away, visibly panicked. I scanned the trees for signs of the little ones. They’d all hidden and pulled hoods over the trunkside houses so they resembled fungus caps.

“Dad, it’s not like that. I was witnessing to him, he was just so happy that-” His dad barged between us and struck Tyler across the face. He collapsed to the ground, wailing. “Every time! You get my hopes up that you’re healing, then something like this happens. Do you think I’m a fool? Well you won’t be able to fool the Lord when you stand before him! I only do this for you! How it hurts me, but how glad you’ll be when we’re united in Heaven! I only do this to save you from the fire!”

I got between them and shouted him down, best I could with the feeble voice of a scared young boy. Called him every nasty name I could think of. Told him he’d have to kill me to lay another hand on Tyler. When I took a swing at him, he seized me by the arm, then spun me around and restrained me with my arms behind my back.

“I wasn’t wrong about you. You’ve got guts. But you picked the wrong battle this time. I thought maybe you’d be a good influence on my son. Show him what a man is meant to be like. But if you’re going to defend his disgusting sin, you’re not welcome in my home or on my property. I’ve been too soft until now. I thought I could coax him back from the brink. Now I see what I have to do. Maybe I should thank you for that.”

He dragged me back to the house even as I fought him, with a bruised, tearful Tyler walking somberly ten paces behind. He called my Dad to come pick me up, leaving me out front, pacing around the porch in a furor. How I wish I were stronger. How I wish it weren’t always the ogres in control, however far up you go.

Dad was steamed at me when he arrived, but settled down when I explained what happened to him on the drive home. As we pulled away from the fancy house shrouded by foliage, I saw a forlorn little face peering out at me from an upstairs window. My heart ached, as if wrapped in writhing thorns. Agonized by how powerless I’d been to protect my first real friend.

Tyler wasn’t at school the next day. Nor the day after that. I continued as I did before, venturing out to the field each recess to leave the little fellows an empty can and bottle of motor oil. Still no sign of where they were taking any of it, but they would now warmly greet me each time I made a delivery.

Where before it meant the world to me, ever since Tyler disappeared it instead seemed a small consolation. The entire school was abuzz over Tyler’s disappearance. I didn’t hear “monkey boy” for a solid three days.

When Katerinka approached me in the field one recess, some sort of instrument case slung across her back, I thought she too meant to question me about where Tyler had gone. I began to insist I didn’t know before she interrupted.

“Is not about missing boy. I bring gift. Perhaps you are ready for it now.” She set the case down on the grass, flipped open the snaps, then swung the lid ajar. Inside was the strangest violin I’ve ever seen. Comprised of what looked like a tangled mass of black vines, cold and glassy. She explained it was made from obsidian.

“That’s sweet of you, but I don’t play violin.” She gestured dismissively. “Is not normal violin. No need to teach how to play. Will come to you when time is right. For now, just to practice holding it.” I did as she instructed and picked it up. By far heavier than it looked, with an odd fold-down tray to the left side.

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^{Stay Tuned for Part 17!}