Run

“Damn fires!”

Eeva, the little gnome’s wife, scowled at him as she ran. “Watch your tongue, Fen. And watch your head! Come on, Sphinx, harness up!”

The ant pulled the spun leaf over its antennae, and with their wee belongings, the three flew down the shoot under their mushroom.

Whenever they moved, they built tunnels for survival, which they’d had to use many times. They’d also created games to play as they ran.

“Peony Palace!” whisper-yelled Fen. “Magnolia Manor!” whisper-yelled Eeva, holding Sphinx’s reins. “Click, click!” clicked Sphinx, racing on, for he was of the line of Meck—the enchanted racing ant of old.

They wanted to think on hope, not the terrible they were experiencing, and, at least for Sphinx, the terrible they'd have to do. And the hope was remembering the homes they’d left in previous escapes. Remembering meant they could always start again.

“Faster, Sphinx!” yelled Eeva.

The racing ant had powers, but so did the gnomes. They were seers, magicians, mystics.

In yesterday morning’s dew, the dew that Eeva always gazed into as it balanced in the acorn top, and she sipped her tea, she had seen him—The Burner—and she had cried out. And, when no strength was left to scream, she began her song of mourning. Her husband and their beloved Sphinx, who was orphaned by such a fire as an infant, joined when they heard.

But today, they were running—running toward safety and the new beginning they never asked for. And day after day, no matter their testing, they raced on.

The first day, they escaped death only by a sprite’s hair, for antelope hooves broke through their tunnel, almost crushing them. The second day, fire ants, always fierce and fatal in the gnomes’ eyes, unlike their gentle Sphinx, charged through their tunnel as a horde, and, if it weren't for Sphinx’s speed and might, would have eaten them alive.

The third day, flooding filled the tunnels, and the tired creatures held their breath as they lost tremendous ground, their lungs felt like bursting, and their belongings washed away.

By the seventh day and after seven other catastrophes, Sphinx, having slept only twice, as he could think of nothing other than the mission, rounded the last corner and screeched to a stop. Crumbs of earth fell on them from his violent halt, and brushing themselves off, they looked at each other in exhaustion. But after a bit of rest and muddy muffin from their soggy pockets, they steeled their souls for their next task, which Sphinx dreaded, but they all knew they must do.

They’d tried other solutions; they really had. But nothing else had worked. So, briefly holding hands for courage and strength, they then let go, looked upward, and began their cautious ascent as they quietly chanted and clicked. “What was can not be again. What is must be.” Over and over, they chanted. And over and over, Fen and Eeva beat their breasts in sorrow for all that was lost, until, finally, Eeva, usually the bravest, pushed through the crust of earth and peeked out from under the moss.

Lowering herself back down, she brushed off her head, sneezed, and quickly listened. “I saw no one, but we must move quickly.” Fen and Sphinx nodded, and, pushing up the moss, again seeing no one, they sprinted out.

They could all feel The Burner even more. He was close, and they quickly tested their talents. Fen closed his eyes until flashing them open and bearing poisoned fangs. Eeva whispered-hummed a sopranic, doleful tune, which, when sung at full strength, could stop a human heart. And Sphinx clicked at them that he was ready to use his talent when the time was right, for using it before then was too great a risk.

Watching Sphinx and confident in their readiness, the gnomes jumped onto his back, and Eeva shook his reins. “Run, dear one, run!” And Sphinx, always obedient, always just, lowered his head and ran.

The Burner’s cottage was before them, and Sphinx hated the unfairness. Surrounded by fragrant pines, grasses, and flowers, and housed under a sturdy thatched roof, he lived, while so many had surely died by his hands. And so many like him had gone before. They’d lived careless lives at best and devious ones at worst. And justice must always find their kind. Fen and Eeva had taught him that, and he knew it in his heart.

But, still, being gentle, he thought of those who might hurt from losing this detestable soul, and he imagined the picture frames of family that might decorate the walls. So many others might suffer from The Burner’s injustice and what Sphinx’s little family was forced to do. And for a second, tears welled up in Sphinx’s eyes. He could barely see to run, and as had happened so many times, part of him didn’t want to anymore.

Suddenly feeling Eeva shake the reins, though, he thought of his birth family, now lost. Even though he had only been an infant, he surely remembered the horrible screams of his mother, father, and sisters—the kind of screaming that Eeva had made when she’d seen The Burner in the dew. And his reasoning renewed, he wiped his eyes and charged.

The crack under the front door was only a few yards away. Their mission was almost over, and Sphinx’s heart thumped in rhythm to Eeva’s hum. As he lowered his head and ran faster, his back suddenly burned a little, and he knew Fen’s venom was dripping in readiness. Sphinx felt even more ready. He would use his talent if he needed to. Being that they were wee things, Fen might not be able to sink in his fangs. And if The Burner were hard of hearing, they might not hear Eeva’s song. But Sphinx, only as a last resort, would eat them if needed. The gnomes were kind in agreeing to this, as they knew it hurt his heart. And, truth be told, it used to hurt theirs, but no more. Their pity had died with too many others.

Suddenly, Eeva could take the quiet no longer, and drunk with gnome adrenaline, which is 1000 times stronger than a human’s, sang out her song. As she did, Sphinx reached the door, and they watched Him through the crack under it. Nothing happened, and as the man opened the door, Fen jumped on his shoe and bit at his ankle. But he was so tiny that before teeth met flesh, the man mistook him for a bug and flicked him into a bush. And so it was up to Sphinx.

Breathing deep, he clicked for courage and embraced one of the most legendary traits of his ancestors, even more legendary than their speed—quick growth, enormous growth. First, he felt the jaw. It was always the jaw he noticed most—the jaw that would soon crack bone and taste blood. He shivered at the thought. But there was no time to think. He was up to the man’s knee now, and his vision was a blur. He closed his eyes as he felt his abdomen bulge and limbs lengthen. And knowing the time was near, he opened his eyes and saw The Burner’s. They were white in horror, and as Sphinx’s head was even with the man’s, he steeled his determination again, threw his mouth open, and lunged forward. But as he did, thundering came from behind him as the man stumbled backward in clumsy escape.

“Run! Hurry! We must stop them!” Antelopes nodded at the directing bear as all ran, and an eagle attacked Sphinx, pecking out his eyes. Sphinx's pain and shock prevented him from shrinking just long enough for a lilycat to slash his back, ripping through his organs. And dropping to the ground, with no time or energy to conjure magic, Sphinx cried. He wanted to sing a tune like Eeva’s, simply for sorrow and comfort, but couldn’t, and instead only made faint clicks.

As his last breath left, he saw a turkey gobble Fen and heard a hare announce the demise of Eeva. And with the gnomes’ lives ended, Sphinx’s might have ended, too, even if he hadn’t been physically wounded.

But what seemed so cruel to the little family was of utmost importance to so many others. For the mostly wee things had gone insane and had to be stopped. They were murderers. Serial killers. And all noble in the forest had been trying to end them for generations. They could not be reasoned with. Many had tried, and most had died in the trying. Eeva had slipped today, though. Her sneeze and singing before the time, giving them away.

She was the first in the family to experience tragedy by fire, losing Kit, the dear baby fox she’d grown up with, when a farmer cleared his land. And, henceforth, little by little, grand fires, and anything that reminded her of her loss, made her cry, shake, sing her doleful tune, and above all, plan.

Fen and Sphinx, endeared by her sincerity and charm, had succumbed to her ramblings and, together, were feared by all.

But today it was finally over.

“What was can not be again. What is must be,” the noble creatures chanted as they beat their breasts in sorrow and covered the little family with earth and sage, wishing them only peace—the same peace they hoped would now come to their land.

And walking away in the flits of fireflies and the haze of starry dusk, the man and creatures’ hearts beat in rhythm to the fireflies’ somber songs, and they started their own new beginnings—the beginnings begotten by tragedy that they never asked for.