I H A V E N ' T A N Y I D E A H O W
M A N Y D A Y S H A V E P A S S E D
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The Eoghan Mountains were the most terrifying things Lilibeth had ever seen. They were still capped with snow from the winter, piercing the sky like needles. To Lilibeth, they looked like watchful giants.
In those Mountains lived Murback Flintbow, the Dwarf Lord, and his brethren. The dwarves had crafted the sickle of Cerridwen, the Moon Goddess, and it was said that the two founding fathers—Nyordith and Saudith, the dwarves of North and South, held the sky aloft with their fingers.
But of course, dear reader, not all dwarves are skilled miners or blacksmiths. Some dwarves prefer to tend to their gardens rather than get their hands dirty, you see.
"Why are you afraid of tiny men?" Aheiran said.
"Because they're not just tiny men," Lilibeth said. "Now shut it before I get Aithne to turn you into a donkey."
That shut him right up.
She could hear the dwarves bellowing their work chanteys, cleaving rock salt from the mountain-bellies with their long iron pickaxes. Dwarves were benevolent people, although they had a bitter rivalry with the leprechauns after the Leprechaun King, the clurichaun, had left fool's gold at a Dwarf Lord's doorstep.
Lilibeth dismounted Aheiran, smoothing her skirts and raising her chin. "Quickly, now. Do I look natural?"
"I can see your bloomers," the horse said rudely.
A beet-colored flush suffused Lilibeth's face. Indeed, a breeze had passed and he could see right up her skirts. She smoothed them down again with as much dignity she could muster.
They had no other choice than to pass through the Eoghan Mountains. There was no other way to sneak past without the dwarves knowing - their sentinels were stationed everywhere.
Lilibeth squared her shoulders and stared at the cavern of inky blackness before her.
She could've sworn something stared back.
A dwarf sentinel stepped out of the darkness. He was a round fellow barely coming up to Lilibeth's chin, with a gold-olive beard braided into three sections and leather armor polished to perfection.
"What's yer business here?" he asked in a voice rough as the rock salt he mined.
Although Lilibeth stood several inches taller than the dwarf, she'd never felt so intimidated in her life. But she kept her head high. If she were to be queen someday, she'd have to be imposing and regal.
"I am Lilibeth Faren of Brightleaf Village, and I would like to pass through."
The dwarf seemed to brighten a bit. "Well then in that case, we must show ye to our Lord! He loves visitors. Hasn't had any in years, poor bloke."
"Please," Lilibeth said. Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead. "We must get going—"
"Ye can wait a couple years, lass!"
Lilibeth stiffened. A couple years?
The dwarf's hands hung like heavy hams at his side. If she refused his offer, he could easily knock out half her teeth.
So she put on her most fake, saccharine smile. "Of course," she said tightly. "See to my horse, won't you, good sir?"
He bowed so low his mushroom nose nearly touched the ground. "Glarfour Barrelbeard, at your service," he said. "Your eyes are like stars, milady."
"Thank you most kindly, Sir Barrelbeard," Lilibeth said as he rushed to take Aheiran, gripping the reins a bit too tightly.
"Mind how you go," Lilibeth called to him as he disappeared behind a jagged peak of dark grey stone frosted with melting snow.
Another sentry holding an iron battle axe twice his size escorted her inside the dark cave. Lilibeth swallowed her fear and instead tried to focus on her surroundings. It was like she'd stepped foot in a nobleman's mansion rather than a clan of drunken dwarves.
A large mahogany table took up most of the space the dark room had to offer. Two black iron candelabras sat at the center of the table, wrought to look like twisting vines and leaves. Saltcellars and pepper mills were placed in easy reach at each table spot. Above them loomed an enormous chandelier, although in Lilibeth's opinion, it looked more like the bejeweled corpse of a huge spider.
Dwarves with weathered faces watched Lilibeth as she passed. She wondered if they'd leap on her and attack if she so much as breathed wrong.
"Welcome to our home," a warm voice said. If an autumn hearth fire ever had a voice, it would be his.
Sitting at the table's head sat the ugliest dwarf of them all. His salt-and-pepper beard was thick and scruffy, as if he never bothered to comb it. Beneath a pair of bushy eyebrows glinted two flinty eyes.
This was the Dwarf Lord, a greedy, ruddy-faced fellow who loved his ale and mead more than he loved his coin.
"Hello," Lilibeth breathed.
"Fetch the young lady a seat," the Dwarf Lord said. A nearby dwarf hurried to fetch a finely upholstered chair. Lilibeth sat down warily. She practically towered over the table (which made her feel very, very awkward).
Food began pouring out: pheasant roasted with raspberry sauce, dark artichokes soaked in olive oil, and diced pumpkin smeared with spices and honey butter. Lilibeth had never eaten such food. It was hot and rich, savory and spicy, and it made her feel alive.
She drank bright red candy apple cider out of a crystal cup. She fake-laughed until she thought she might never truly laugh again. She answered all the dwarves' questions as carefully and politely as she could.
Was she really a human girl? Yes, although sometimes she wondered if she could plant herself into the ground and become something new, perhaps a soft kitten or a playful puppy or even a faerie like she'd always dreamed to be.
Where was she from? Brightleaf, a small village near the coast. Each summer she tossed bread into the pond for the ducks, and each spring she celebrated Calan Beannacht, as did they all.
Had she ever met a dwarf before? One fellow claimed he'd seen her before (but she didn't recognize him. If she'd ever seen someone that hideous, she'd know him on sight).
Then the dessert came, a truly strange dwarven confection: spoonfuls of boysenberry syrup swirled over an apricot and raisin cake that had been marinating in ale for two years waiting for the proper visitor. Lilibeth wasn't the proper age to consume alcohol, so she was not quite obliged to acquiesce their request.
She pretended to eat and enjoy her food, rubbing her belly and emitting appropriate groans of delight. When it was time for her to be escorted to her quarters, she dragged herself along without complaint.
Her room was dreadful. Through the mullioned window standing sentinel near her horrendous bed, moonlight shone through, not enough to illuminate the fiery hues of the richly dyed Mourradan rugs at Lilibeth's feet, but enough to light up a potential escape route. To her dismay, however, she realized didn't have enough time to plot her escape.
Two female dwarves with matching crops of garnet hair herded Lilibeth into a bathing chamber with a three-legged iron bathtub. Lilibeth squeaked as they stripped her of her clothes and dumped her unceremoniously into the tub, but stopped objecting as they washed her hair with a shampoo that smelled of rain-washed gardenias.
She was tempted to paddle around in the luxurious heat of the bath water, but the dwarves were already pushing her out like she was no better than a wandering sheep. They dried her hair with thick towels and scrubbed away at the the black lines of earth embedded under her nails with sweet-smelling soaps.
"When can I leave?" Lilibeth demanded of them, but they didn't answer.
They slammed the little door behind them as they walked out, leaving Lilibeth alone. The young girl climbed into her scratchy bed and curled up, gazing at the window at nothing, an empty sky full of empty promises. She hated it all.
You're stronger than you know, Father's voice said. All will be well. His voice floated to her head like a corked bottle in a stormy sea.
Lilibeth rolled over. She needed to be strong. Now, she had no time to be weak.