Of Wood and Stone and Glabbers

When Shandol Gelbil spotted a kid sidling toward a pie she had left on the windowsill, she shouted "STOP THAT!" with such volume and ferocity that mischief of any kind, anywhere in the village, ceased instantly. There was also at least one incident of wet undies, those belonging to Drubel Snubel (yes, really), though Drubel vehemently denied it. Even before that, Shandol's voice had been famous in the village of Wood; famous, sometimes annoying, and often feared.

So when Shandol yelled "QUIET!", the Village Hall got quiet in less time than it took a fly to get out of the way of a swatting palm. Shandol was the youngest Village Head in memory, and one of the few women to fill the role; and, by Gluff, this meeting would not get out of hand on her watch. "The matter at hand is what to do 'bout the glabber, how to best protect the village o' Wood," she said, more quietly, at least for her.

No one spoke for a moment. Well, almost no one; at the back of the room, young Gignul said to his brother Hignul, "your mum's a glabber." He didn't say it quite quietly enough.

"So's yours," said Hignul.

"Nuh uh," said Gignul. Heads began to turn in their direction, interested to hear how Hignul might handle this affront to basic logic.

"S'posed glabber," Dondel Pil said, emphasizing the first word. Heads swung from Hignul to Dondel. "Got no proof. No one 'ere's ever seen one; even my granddad thought maybe they was just made up." He folded his huge arms across his chest. 'Sides, he thought, I ain't 'fraid o' no glabber.

Zilbet Buzzel listened nervously, while trying hard to appear not nervous at all; she also tried seem interested, but not too interested. She had placed herself as near the middle of the crowd as she could, and was calling on every bit of acting skill she'd honed appearing in the annual mid-winter "Good Gluff, It's Cold Out There" fete, in which she played a lamb. My part's comin' up, she thought.

Shandol was talking again. "But, Don, someone says they have seen one." Calm and in charge, she thought. No need to shout, though errin' on the side o' shoutin' isn't so bad. "'N fact, TWO someones said they seen one, or maybe they seen two, so we don't know." She thought it was likely some kind of malarky, but wanted to play it safe. If there IS somethin', she thought, and I don't do anythin', there might be an Oustin', with me as the oustee. There hadn't been an Ousting of a Village Head in generations, the last being Spinter Blebbel, who got drunk taking a carrot harvest to market and ran the wagon off the road.

Zilbet was one who had actually reported seeing the glabber; she readied herself for her moment, channelling her inner shivering lamb.

"So what?" Dondel said. "Are we s'posed ta grab our axes 'n pitchforks 'n whaddayacallit"--there was a short, awkward pause--"pointy sticks", he continued, "'n run 'round the woods like a pack o' dirty Stoners?" As he said it, Dondel began to think it didn't sound such a bad idea.

The dislike for the residents of Stone, the neighboring village, had abated over the generations. In truth, there was only one verified account of a Stone resident running through the woods with a weapon-like object, that being a fella out chopping wood who mistakenly thought he heard the dinner bell. But Dondel's family kept a dim view. Might be a good 'scuse to end that fool "No Stoner nor Woody Hurt by the Other'n In a While" streak, he thought. Dondel made a mental note to sharpen another stick, which was one of a very short list of mental notes of which he was capable.

Shandol inwardly blanched a bit at the phrase "dirty Stoner". She had been thinking a lot about Stone and the Stoners lately, and was starting to believe it might be time to leave the enmity behind and forge some ties. The Stoners were great builders, she knew, and there were times a sturdy stone structure had its advantages. And there's none better at diggin' skills, she thought, very handy for storm cellars 'n root cellars 'n cellars for any sorts o' things.

The crowd clamored again. Oh, piddle, thought Shandol. "Quiet, quiet," she yelled, though not quite so loudly. The crowd got the idea, though, and calmed. "Not suggestin' that at all. I think it needs urgent lookin' at, is all." Shandol was beginning to feel on more solid ground. "I'm suggestin' we form a party to search the woods reg'lar-like, and to, y'know, keep watch at night. We can build a nice fire or two, an' keep an eye out. I'll do my part." She finished strong. They're good folk, she thought, and with good Village Headin' they'll do the right thing.

"I think we should hear from Zilbet, she bein' one who's seen the the mon"--Shandol caught herself--"erm...thing." That m-word'll just create panic, she thought.

Zilbet rose rather more briskly than she intended, which is to say, more briskly than a shivering lamb. "Just beyond Fliddle Sinkmel's place," she said in her best stage voice, or what she hoped was her best stage voice, the shivering lamb having no actual lines. "Awful thing, gray-green face, long arms with big claws, big flappy black-and-yellow robe, hat with a pointy-like stick out o' the top." What else? She tried to remember her script. "And pointy sticks down its back so it could kill ya' just by backin' into ya'."

This was what they had talked about, she and Bymryck Skudge; she was pleased with herself that she didn't automatically add "dirty Stoner" after his name. She had not, in fact, found Bymryck to be a dirty Stoner. She thought he was rather clever, and not so unhandsome as to be worrisome, and not smelly except when it was understandable to be so. They had met, by chance, in a patch of forest almost exactly halfway between Stone and Wood, and after she muttered the requisite "dirty Stoner" and he a barely audible "thick-head Woody", they both looked down, a bit embarrassed, and moved the leaves around a bit with their toes.

One thing led to another, secret meetings were arranged and kept, and eventually they engaged in... situations... that required careful brushing off of leaves and twigs after (especially anything caught in the hair, that was a dead giveaway).

"There," said Shandol. "And we had another sightin' 'sides that 'un. Who was it? Speak up, let's hear your tale."

A string of mutterings--mutterings not often being found in strings, usually more in clusters, all bunched together--circulated around the room, one after another offering that they'd heard of the sighting from someone else. In fact, there was no other sighting; one had been enough, and the village's collective imagination and its rumor mill--as faulty as rumor mills everywhere--came to life and provided a second sighting.

Dondel sat up straighter. He was warming to the notion of direct action, a notion which in his mind entailed at least axes and pitchforks, and come to think of it, might as well include some pointy sticks too. He began working out how he might carry such armament so as to minimize the chance of lacerating, impaling, concussing, or otherwise damaging himself.

Zilbet knew what no one else in the Hall did: that there was no second sighting, in fact had been no first sighting, that the whole shebang had been dreamed up by her and Bymryck. This particular shebang--plot rather--began with a Zil asserting she'd sighted a folkloric monster, and ended with Bymryck claiming he'd saved the village by chasing it off. Zilbet remembered how his eyes shone when he'd said, "I'll run in and say I scared it off, and everyone'll think I'm a super...super..."--he paused, thinking--"super-saver-guy, and we can be together."

C'mon, Bymryck, Zil thought, time to play your part.

"I have extra axes, two at least, and I think a extra pitchfork," Dondel offered.

Shandol felt the situation slipping again. "No, no, no," she said in her turned-up-to-10-but-not-quite-11 voice. "No axes, no pitchforks, not yet. We stay alert, we watch, and we, whatsit, we report." She waited a beat. Maybe I can steer 'em toward havin' some Stoners help us, she thought. That'd be a step now, wouldn’t it? "Now, who'll join me on the first watch tonight?"

This time, the mutterings did come in a cluster, one on top of another, in a more typical mutterly way.

"I'll help, I can help with the first watch," said young Fudmul Schruck. He stood straight and hoped he looked more grown-up than he felt.

Fud needn't have worried. His father Fedmel stood up beside him. "I'll watch too."

C’mon Bym, thought Zilbet, or it'll be too late.

I knew it, thought Shandol. Good people, good Village Headin', works every time.

Then I'll just hang 'round the watch party with my axe AND a pointy stick, thought Dondel. Thoughts didn't usually pass through his head in rapid succession, but this moment was different. Across the space of an instant, another thought formed in part of his mind, was replied to with a yup by different part, was sent straight through to his mouth, and was blurted to the Village Hall in his big, slightly nasal voice.

"What if it attacks the watchers?" See if they don't want my extra axe NOW, he thought.

There was a brief, uncomfortable silence. Zilbet began to worry, but about what, she couldn't decide. Shandol opened her mouth as if to yell, but just gulped like a fish having found itself suddenly on the stream bank.

"They're afraid of fire, Don, I thought everyone knew that" said Fedmel Schruck. He'd heard plenty of stories about glabbers when he was a kid. "Least they don't like looking right at it, so I guess they could turn around and back toward us with those backward pointy stick thingies, but I'm pretty sure we could dodge around a bit and end up ok, backing up being kinda slow and all."

There was an audible sigh of relief in the room. Shandol stopped gulping, and Dondel decided he needed to bring two axes to watch the watchers. Zilbet's worry neither abated nor advanced to an actual thought.

"Very well, good citizens," Shandol began, "seems we have a..."

There was a tremendous THUMP on the side of the Hall. People jumped, a few screamed, Fudmul made a sound that was a combination of "wha?" and "who?" and "bluuurrrrbagh?", and Zilbet thought finally!

What Zilbet said aloud--screamed, really--was "GLABBER!" Even as she screamed it, the worry began to form into a thought, and though she didn't know what it was--she hadn't thought it yet, after all--her mind pushed back on it as an infant might push away mashed broccoli. Before the thought broke through and formed, there was another THUMP on the other side of the Hall.

Zilbet was supposed to scream "GLABBER!" again, but for better or worse, the thought she'd pushed against made it in before "GLABBER" made it out. It was a series of thoughts, really, and the executive summary of the thoughts was: this is a really, REALLY bad plan. She realized, quite suddenly, that many things might go wrong, the worst of which was that Bymryck could actually be hurt or even killed. Even if he wasn't, why in Gluff's name would the villagers think it was HE who chased off the glabber? Not like they can SEE him chasin' it, she thought, the glabber an' Bym never bein' in the same place at the same time. And, even the more credulous among the Woodies might wonder how it was that a Stoner (dirty or otherwise) came to be in the very center of Wood at that moment.

Dondel was quickly on his enormous feet, moving his enormous body toward the side door at, well, enormous speed, scattering villagers as he pounded along. Oh piddle, thought Zilbet, this is WORSE than bad.

Dondel threw the door open with such speed and force that Bymryck, raising his rock-breaking hammer to generate another THUMP, didn't have time to be surprised; one instant, he was raising the great iron-headed tool, the next the sturdy Hall door, moving somewhere around the speed of sound, met up with him, and the next he was sprawled flat on his back a dozen feet away.

For as big as he was, Dondel's reflexes were shockingly fast, and he stopped himself a few feet short of running over Bymryck, which might've had the same result as if a stout pony had tromped on the lad. Dondel began to do his version of the fish-on-a-bank gulp. The scene before him made no sense: here was someone, by all appearances a dirty Stoner, and here was a great, huge hammer (Dondel gave a grudging nod of admiration to whomever could wield such a thing), and here was what appeared to be a part of a black and yellow robe with a few bits of pointy sticks poking out. Being Dondel, his first real thought was that hammer'd make a fine weapon-type thing.

And then, as often happens when spectacularly bad plans are involved, things got weird: Bymryck sat up and said "I'll save you" in a bleary voice. His eyes crossed, his tongue drooped out, and he passed out, flopping back flat.

Most of the village was gathered around by then. Zil abandoned any sort of act and ran toward her fallen fella, crying "Bym!" as she knelt by him.

"Dirty..." Dondel began, stepping toward them.

"DON!" Shandol interrupted. Dondel paused. Shandol assessed the situation, and said, quite gently for her, "Zil, dear, you got somethin' you'd like to, y'know, say or whatnot?"

As the plot spilled out, the Woodies pressed closer to hear. In the hushed pause after Zilbet finished, Bymryck came to, raised his head, and muttered, "if there's savin' to do, I'm him". His eyes wobbled a bit.

Well well, thought Shandol. An openin' seems to have appeared. Her mind churned; how could she best use this? Primary school teachers know, but won't admit, that good grammar and proper pronunciation aren't a requirement for sharp, sly ideas, and Shandol could be as sharp and sly as anyone when she got going.

"Don, Fedmel, might I have a word?" She led them away from the crowd. "Now, hear me out, I been thinkin'..."

Her plan, though hastily and ungrammatically assembled, was actually both an artful compromise and a small but important first step.

"We can't just let 'em get away with this," she began, looking at Dondel. "But, y'know, I been thinkin' 'bout how we might, y'know, sort o' team up with the Stoners, just on an occasional-like basis, mind." She outlined her musings about structures and cellars, and pointed out that it was hard for Stoners to raise sheep, leading to a scarcity of wool and mutton for them.

"So I'm proposin' we give these two"--she nodded toward Zil and Bym--"temporary-like banishment in the forest, for two days 'n nights." Fedmel nodded cautiously while Dondel huffed.

"Not enough for this sort o' whaddayacallit breach o' rules," Dondel said.

"Not done talkin'," said Shandol. "Fedmel, could your wife stitch up a nice, Dondel-size black 'n yellow robe? And Don, could you fit it with, say, some pointy sticks? I'll figger out how to get somethin' like claws fitted to the end o' the sleeves and so on."

Fedmel grinned, then grinned wider. "Sure, sure, that's just the thing."

"Not quite followin'..." began Dondel. Understanding suddenly blossomed in his axes-fix-everything mind. "OHHHH, you mean I should pay 'em a visit, sort o' sneaky-like, on one o' their banishment nights."

"Or both," said Shandol.

Dondel brightened, hoping Shandol's promised claw-hands could grip an axe, or at least a stout, pointy stick. "Fed's right, just the thing, just the thing."

They nodded in unison and turned to walk back toward the stricken couple.