Marbles: The Hawk Who Refused to Die a Virgin

Chapter 26. Languin Takes Flight

After giving himself a thorough rubdown with one of the moist towelettes that he had stolen from the wizard, Brutus set about making camp.

Yes, he despised the wizard (which is why he had taken to stealing things from him, small things the wizard didn't realize he'd lost until he needed them, which would throw him into a rage when he had to waste energy conjuring them again). But, Brutus was also a gnome who loved to be given a mission, to carry it out to the letter, to succeed at doing something different. So, he set his tent on the opposite side of the mountain top from the pile of mole corpses, and would use the binoculars to scan around the mountain, every hour, logging the time and weather, eating a mouthful of pemmican and washing it down with his canteen to keep up his strength, taking power naps, and sewing a pair of moleskin gloves for Clementine.

It was an exorbitant privilege for Brutus to have access to all this mole fur, and it seemed a waste to the ever practical gnome to let it all go down the gullet of some vultures. The vultures were a constant presence, either circling, scavenging, or sunning themselves across from Brutus's tent. Brutus had come to like the birds though, sketching the sunning semicircle they made every morning in the margins of his logbook after they had gorged themselves to sleep the night before.

It had been a couple weeks, and Brutus was putting the final touches on the lining of his gloves when the walkie-talkie crackled to life at his feet.

"Any sign of them?" asked Aloe. "Over." He checked in with Brutus once in the morning and once at night.

"No," said Brutus. "Nothing yet. Over.""

"OK make sure to keep me posted," said the wizard. "Over." 

"Does Clementine have time to talk?" asked Brutus. "Over."

There was no response from the walkie-talkie. Brutus shook his head. Clementine always seemed to be right next to the wizard when he called. Sometimes she would talk to him, but most of the time the wizard just said she was too busy, or had nothing new to say. And, whenever she did talk, she would seem distant, unconcerned about how Brutus was doing alone at the top of the world's tallest mole mausoleum.

She mostly asked about how soft the mole fur was, again and again, like a child drifting off to sleep but still pestering their parent about their obsession du jour. Brutus had already made her boots, and a fur insert for her cap, but he had kept these a secret. He wanted to surprise her. 

The walkie-talkie hissed on again. "Brutus, Clementine advises she can smell you wafting through the walkie-talkie and I would rather not put her through that ordeal today." said Aloe.

"Holy fuck dude," fumed Brutus "I am going to throw this piece of garbage over the side of this mountain, and I'm going to rappel down its side, and I'm going to hike all the way back to the warren to throttle you I swear to Christ almighty," shouted an unhinged Brutus into the walkie- talkie. He had been so focused on screaming at Aloe that he hadn't noticed Languin rising on the plinth behind him. The only thing that got his attention was the sound of the ejected ashen elf thudding among the pile of mole corpses opposite Brutus's tent.

"Holy shit it's the elf!" shouted Brutus, running over to the corpse pile, making sure to go around the outer rim of the mountain's burial aperture out of a surfeit of respect for other culture's burial rituals.

"What!?" shouted Aloe voice from the walkie-talkie.

"That elf that was with Opal before they disappeared into the mountain," said Brutus, staring at Languin, who was sprawled, shirtless, on a pile of putrefying insectivores. His filmed over eyes were open, his chest still. "He looks dead. Over."

"I'm on my way," said Aloe.

Brutus stood staring at the elf, reaching up to flip down a brim on the side of his cap to help shield his eyes from the sun. A sun that was currently bathing Languin in its loving light.

Languin's jerkinless body began to drink in the sudden influx of sun. Top of a mountain? No clouds, thin air? As sunlight went, this was primo shit.

Even if he hadn't been injured, it had been months since Languin had seen even a glimmer of sunlight, which on its own was terribly unhealthy for an elf. Languin blinked once over dry, milky white eyes. He began to breathe. He looked like a time lapse video of a rotting animal in reverse, his sagging flesh plumping up, the brittle gray twist of his ponytail fattening to black. His primary heart kicked back on with a rush of warm elven blood. His fine elven fingers clenched into fists. He coughed. He got rock hard for a second. Just a recovering elven body checking off all the boxes. All systems go.

"You're alive!" shouted Brutus, amazed.

Languin's eyes focused on the gnome. "You! You are the wizard's lackey!" "I'm not his lackey," said Brutus.

"Then what are you doing here on top of Hawk Mountain camped out near a huge pile of dead mole people?" asked Languin, staring down at the mole corpses in disgust. "If it is at the behest of that wizard, then that is the very definition of a lackey."

"Those marbles the hawk stole are incredibly powerful," said Brutus. "You fucking around with them is wreaking havoc everywhere. The harvest is ruined. People are going hungry. They were trying to get emergency supplies from surrounding towns but they were blocked by a storm giant who made a months long inland hurricane trying to get at you guys. Whatever it is you're doing, whatever quests you're on, you're fucking it up, and in ways that are causing society to collapse."

"I think that you have your lackey glasses on, and that you are overblowing this, just a bit," said Languin, who was reading the scroll that had been stuffed into his pants. "You are making a mountain out of a molehill on top of a hill of moles on top of a mountain," laughed Languin, feeling invigorated, and flippant. He lifted his heels and slid down the pile of moles. He reached the bottom, stood up, stretched, then began to walk past Brutus and onto the obsidian aperture.

"Where are you going?" asked Brutus.

"To rejoin my party," said Languin, stomping his heel three times against the circle, which began to slowly iris open.

"Listen," said Brutus. "Stop right there. I'm supposed to hold you here until the wizard comes and gets his marbles back."

"And I am supposed to be dead," said Languin. "Yet, here we are." He looked down into the aperture to see the plinth rising up to meet him. He leapt down onto the plinth, meeting it halfway between the top of the mountain and where his friends waited, cheering for him, below.

Brutus ran over to the aperture only to have it start closing beneath his feet. Languin looked back up at him one final time while the plinth began to reverse back down to the ground.

"You are better than this, gnome!" shouted Languin. "You need no longer be a villain!" "I'm not a villain," mumbled Brutus to himself. "I'm just doing my job."