The Nibiru Effect

Memory 23

My eyes flutter open, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I'm still alive. For now.

My head throbs softly, and I can't move, but I'm otherwise unharmed. I try to take in my surroundings, but the sun is just coming up over the horizon, and the angle of its rays blind me. At least, now I know it's morning. But what use is that information when I don't know where I am? Or how I got here?

I think back to my last clear memory. It takes a while, but the ambush finally comes back to me.

"I was drugged," I mutter.

"Way to state the obvious," mumbles a voice to my right. I turn to find Jonn tied to a large wooden stake.

"There's no need to be snarky," says Kara. She's on my left, also tied to a stake. Odds are, I'm in the same boat—it would explain why I can't move.

"Yes, there is," insists Jonn. "If Mr. Obvious here hadn't distracted me with his weird seizure, I could have protected us."

"There was nearly a dozen of them," reminds Kara.

"Doesn't matter," retorts her father.

"They had dinosaurs."

"Doesn't matter."

"You only had a knife."

"Does. Not. Matter."

Jonn and Kara continue arguing, but I'm no longer listening. The sun has divorced the horizon, and I can now make out our surroundings.

I start with my immediate environment, then work my way outward. As expected, my friends and I are strapped to wooden stakes. The rope that binds us appears handcrafted, though I'm not sure what use that information is to us. The massive slab of stone that stands beneath our feet gives way to a staircase after a few metres. Beyond it stretches a large clearing, every centimetre of which overflows with children. At least, I think they're children until I stop taking them in as a whole and focus on the individuals.

They're short—about one metre in height—and quite hideous. Their skin is the colour of ash, and their features are disproportionate to the point of being grotesque. Cyrano de Bergerac noses. Beady rat eyes. Buck teeth that would make a rabbit jealous. Dobby-like drooping ears. Wicked Witch warts. Boils the size of grapefruits. Enough freckles to put a redhead to shame. The combinations are endless, but each iteration is equally hideous.

Gnomes. It's the only word I can think of to describe the odd humanoids.

I glance at my companions, but they're still arguing.

"Hey, guys," I say. "I think you should look at this."

No response. I try again, only to be ignored once more.

"GUYS!" I yell.

"What?" snaps Jonn.

"We have company."

"What are you..." he begins, but his voice trails off when he notices the mass of gnomes. Kara seems equally stunned by the discovery.

I take advantage of my companions' distraction to focus on the buzz of conversation. I concentrate on individual voices, but I can't understand a single word. It's odd. I'm usually able to grasp the meaning of the simplest words from the get-go. I guess my ability to understand languages doesn't apply to gnomish.

"What are they?" asks Jonn.

"I think the better question is 'what are they saying?'" I point out.

"Why are you asking me?" asks the grey-haired soldier.

"I thought you could understand all languages."

"Yeah? Well, you thought wrong."

"But Kara said—"

"'Kara said.' 'Kara said.' Can't you think for yourself?"

Jonn is starting to get on my nerves, but Kara cuts in before things can degenerate.

"What my father is trying to say is that our microchips allow us to understand most languages, not all of them."

Oops. My bad. I'm debating whether to say this aloud when Jonn starts yelling.

"Hey! Give that BACK!"

I follow his gaze to a gnome in the first row. He's playing with something shiny. It's Jonn's locket. He must have stolen it while we were unconscious.

"Give it back!" demands Jonn, but his outburst only excites the gnome further. He starts throwing the locket into the air, giggling giddily as each new throw tears an angry growl from the soldier's lips. I'm about to point out the futility of Jonn's approach when something unexpected happens.

The gnome's skin changes colour.

It starts with his nose but quickly spreads to the rest of his body. Within seconds, his entire frame is the colour of mustard—yellow, not Dijon. It's freaky but cool. And it only gets cooler when the pigment shift spreads to the nearby gnomes. Within seconds, the entire crowd has shifted.

Oblivious to the odd turn of events, Jonn keeps yelling.

"Don't you get it?" asks Kara. "You're just getting them more excited."

She's right, not that Jonn cares. He keeps screaming and demands the gnomes return his locket. But I pay little attention to him as I have just noticed something that is of far greater interest.

I understand what the gnomes are saying.

At first, it's only a word here and there, but the more I listen, the more I comprehend. Before long I have confirmed Kara's theory.

"They think it's a game," I say.

Jonn keeps yelling, oblivious to everything around him.

"SHUT UP!" I yell.

That does the trick. Both Jonn and the gnomes fall silent, the latter reverting to their original tint.

"They think it's a game," I explain. "The more you yell, the more they'll throw your locket around."

"That's ridiculous," says Jonn.

"Try yelling again, then stop and see what happens."

"Why—"

"Just try it," interrupts Kara. "What do you have to lose?"

Jonn doesn't seem convinced, but he starts yelling again. Immediately, the gnomes begin throwing the locket around. Within seconds, they turn yellow and laughter fills the air. Only one of them remains untainted. He's smaller than the others, and his facial features are properly proportioned. He seems to be having fun, but his skin remains unpigmented.

After a while, Jonn stops yelling, and the gnomes instantly stop throwing the locket.

"How did you know that would work?" he asks.

"Well, I kind of... understand them."

"How?" wonders Kara.

"I'm not sure," I admit. "I always had a knack for languages, but I never thought it would work for... well, whatever these creatures are."

"We're korrigans!" yells one of the gnomes. Is he talking to me? Can he understand me? I'm about to try communicating with them when one of the small beings steps forward. The rest of the group immediately falls silent and reverts to its original colour. Whoever this gnome is, he's important. The ceremonial robe he wears tells me he's some sort of priest or religious leader.

The gnome scales the stone staircase and turns to address his people. I understand some of what he says, but there are many words I fail to grasp. Clearly, I have yet to master their language. Nonetheless, I understand enough to uncover the nature of their intent.

"What's he saying?" asks Kara. "What do they want from us?"

"They want to kill us."