A Gift For Mum

“Dad! Dad!”

Olim’s cries as he raced across the grass caused the older gnome affectionately known as Young Jack to glance up, first with an expression of concern and then, when he was sure there was nothing amiss with his wayward offspring, with a broad grin. He put down the trowel with which he had been turning the soil in his vegetable patch and fell backwards co-operatively as his son predictably tackled him. He performed the expected, “oof,” as Olim bounced on his stomach with an enthusiasm befitting a stage actor in a theatre, which in turn elicited a bout of giggling from his son.

“You got me!” gasped Jack. His theatrics suddenly ceased as his body tensed. “Or have I got you?”

On that final word, fingers found ribs and Olim’s giggles turned to breath-snatching cackles as he struggled in his father’s grasp.

“Jack, stop, he can’t breathe!”

Jack’s fingers ceased their torment and he glanced across the open grass to where his wife, Joanna, was tending to the flowers.

“Yes, dear,” he called.

“Don’t you, “yes, dear,” me,” Joanna chided. “It won’t be me who’s upset when he’s sick on you.”

Jack looked back into his son’s face, mere inches from his own, and raised his brows.

“You going to be sick?”

Olim, still breathing heavily, shook his head.

“Good lad,” said Jack, pulling Olim down to rest his head on his chest.

Together, father and son gazed across at Joanna, each admiring her in their own way as she went about her task.

“Dad,” said Olim in a soft voice.

“Yes, son?”

“I love mum.”

Jack smiled. “As do I.”

“She does a lot for us.”

“That she does.”

“We should do something for her.”

Jack frowned. “What did you have in mind?”

There was a pause as Olim considered this. “Maybe a present?”

Jack nodded. “That would be nice. What should we get her?”

Olim pushed himself off his father’s chest and looked down at him solemnly. “Not we,” he said, shaking his head. “I want to do this myself.”

Jack smiled at his son’s tenacity. “I’m sure she’d like that. Do you need some money?”

Olim shook his head again as he pushed himself to standing. “No. That wouldn’t be me doing it by myself.”

And with that Olim stomped away, leaving his prone father apprehensive as to the chaos that was surely to come.

*****

On the outskirts of Brawdol, three gnomes were gathered. Had it been dark, the lit fire would have cast its flickering blaze over their features, lighting them ominously from below. As it was, the mid-morning sun rendered such a portentous setting unworkable and so Liv was doing the best she could in the lea of a rocky outcrop, gazing at her companions with wide eyes and waving her hands about in a mystical fashion.

Said companions looked on with rapt attention. The burly berserker, Bjorn, and the lithe shipwright, Loci, were both of norse descent and held Liv and her rune reading in high regard. Bjorn’s paired axes and Loci’s mighty hammer were propped against a protruding rock nearby, forgotten in the face of Liv’s mystical mutterings.

“Oh, ancient gods of Skrimbald” Liv cried, scooping up the small bag that contained her stones with a clatter and holding it aloft as if making an offering to the heavens, “bless these runes and provide your guidance!”

She kept the bag aloft, noting out of the corner of her vision that Bjorn and Loci both had their attention focussed upon it. This was key. She had no time for those not fully invested in her work and the outcomes it provided.

“Um, excuse me?”

Liv glanced around irritably at the small voice, annoyance writ large across her features. Her expression softened when she spied the diminutive form of Olim, eyes wide with innocence, standing nervously at the periphery of the rocks.

“Young Olim,” said Liv, “welcome. How can I help you?”

But Olim’s attention had already been taken by the weapons leaning against the rock. A tiny hand reached out towards the blade of one of Bjorn’s axes, his mouth an O of wonder.

“Olim!”

Liv’s curt call brought the young gnome’s attention back to her and his mouth snapped shut, eyes suddenly sorrowful. Liv’s voice softened again at the forlorn expression he had adopted.

“How can I help you, young one?” she repeated.

Olim paused, as if trying to remember why he had come. Then a smile spread slowly across his features as recollection dawned. “I’m looking for a gift for my mum,” he said, “but I don’t know what to get her. Do you know what she might like?”

Liv nodded. “How very thoughtful of you. And such fortuitous timing. We were just about to ask the runes for guidance. Would you like me to read them for you?”

Olim nodded enthusiastically.

“Make room, you two,” Liv commanded, flapping a hand at the adults opposite her. “Give young Olim somewhere to sit.”

Bjorn and Loci did as they had been bidden and shuffled aside, allowing Olim to position himself between them.

“Now,” said Liv, “we have already beseeched the gods for their guidance. Everything else lies with us. Clear your mind.” She waited until Olim’s face had adopted a satisfactorily slack expression. “Now I will do likewise and you will choose three stones, one at a time, for me to interpret.”

She held out the bag across the neutral space between the four of them and watched as Olim reached within. He jiggled the runes about for a while and, just when the clacking has reached a level of annoyance at which she felt certain she would have to intervene, he pulled out a stone and offered it to her.

Liv took it and studied the rune etched therein.

“Gebo,” she said, nodding sagely. “Amongst its many meanings is “gift”.”

“Yes,” said Olim. “I want to get my mum a gift. But we already know that.”

“Don’t be so impatient,” Liv chided. “Rather than see it as the stone telling you what you already know, try and accept this as a sign that you did it correctly, that you adequately cleared your mind to pull a stone relevant to the question at hand. Now, do it again.”

Olim did so and passed Liv the next stone.

“Hmmm, Pertho,” she said. “A rune for femininity.”

“She is a girl,” Olim confirmed. “What-”

“Clear your mind,” Liv interrupted, “and pull the final one.”

Olim did so and Liv studied the result.

“Berkano,” she said. “A rune for birth. So, let’s see. We have a gift of feminine birth…”

Her voice trailed off. To either side of her she could see Bjorn and Loci looking anywhere but at her, taking a sudden and keen interest in the rocks, the clouds, anything that would save them from having to look in her direction. Liv’s mind raced as she sought a logical and, above all, safe interpretation of the stones.

“Does she perhaps want a pet?” she hazarded.

Olim frowned. “She likes animals but I don’t think she wants to keep any more than what we’ve got. She says our dog Emlyn is more than enough.”

Liv gave up. “The stones can work in mysterious ways. Who knows what they could mean?”

Olim looked crestfallen. “Well, thanks anyway,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. “I’ll go and see if anyone else has an idea what she might want.”

And, with that, Olim wandered away from the rocky outcrop back towards Brawdol, entirely failing to notice the looks that passed between the adults he had left behind.

*****

Towards the centre of Brawdol, within a lofty warehouse, Belle Memphis laboured. The space would have been described as copious had it not been for the presence of her airship, the Flying Fish, brought inside for a good tinkering, which loomed over her. Ladders and gantries about the walls would give access to her voluminous flanks but today Belle was working on the gondola that hung beneath the great bulk and which now rested on the workshop floor.

Belle adored everything about her beloved airship but she would have found it hard to say which she preferred more; flying or tinkering. The former gave her the freedom of flight, the sensation of being able to go anywhere, to explore the endless possibilities of Tauber, and all from an elevation that for once meant she was the one looking down on others, rather than the other way around, which was the usual status quo when dealing with most other races across the realm. The latter tested her mental capacity, the nimbleness of her fingers and her desire to push the limits of what was possible.

For all that the Flying Fish was a unique piece of craftswomanship, it was far from perfect. It had its limitations and Belle saw it as her duty to push them so that today’s possibilities became tomorrow’s normality.

At least, that was how she felt about it most of the time.

“Have you tightened the retaining bolt yet?”

The sound of Flinders Memphis’ voice from the opposite side of the gondola caused Belle to grind her teeth in frustration. For all that she loved her father, and loved tinkering, combining the two seemed to sour both relationships, even when the tinkering required two to accomplish.

“Not yet, dad,” Belle replied, not quite managing to keep the sigh from her voice.

Flinders didn’t seem to notice, displaying his usual lack of perception or, Belle suspected, deliberate ignorance of his daughter’s moods.

“Well get on with it, will you?” he retorted. “I can’t be holding this in place forever.”

“Excuse me?”

Belle paused in the act of reaching for the wrench the would satisfy her father’s command and looked towards the door to the workshop, standing ajar, through which a young face was peering.

“Oh, hello, Olim,” said Belle, neglecting to pick up the wrench and instead straightening with a groan and heading for the door. Her father could wait. She’d teach him a thing or two about patience.

Olim had come to visit her workshop often. The Flying Fish seemed to hold a special fascination for him and Belle was only too happy to indulge him and fan the flames of his curiosity. Of such things future engineers were forged, after all.

Belle wiped her greasy hands on her overalls. “Have you come to see the Fish?”

Olim’s big eyes took in the bulk of the airship, visible over Belle’s shoulder, then snapped back to her face. “Not today.”

“Oh?”

Olim frowned. “You’re a girl, right?”

“Last time I checked,” Belle laughed.

“I want to get a present for my mum.”

Belle pivoted her mind for the second time in as many statements. “That’s nice.”

“Only,” Olim continued, “I don’t know what to get her and I thought, seeing as she’s a girl and you’re a girl, you could help me decide?”

“How’re we getting on with that retaining bolt?” came Flinders’ voice from deep in the workshop.

Belle ignored him and considered Olim’s question.

“I’m not sure I’m the person to talk to,” she began. “If it were me I’d want something for my workshop. A new torque wrench or some other tool.”

“Belle?” Flinders’ voice came again. “About that retaining bolt?”

“Bolts are always welcome,” Belle continued, “retaining or otherwise. But I get the impression that my interests and your mother's don’t align?”

Olim shook his head. “Not really.”

“You could try flowers?” Belle suggested.

“Would you like flowers?”

Belle shook her head. “They’re not really my thing.”

“I don’t think they’re my mum’s either,” Olim hazarded. “She likes plants and things but I think she wants them to stay in the ground where they belong.”

“A sensible place for them to remain,” Belle agreed. “Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”

And she watched as Olim walked away, admiring the dedication the boy was putting into finding something suitable for his mum. It was nice when parents and children had such loving connections, she reflected.

“Belle!” Flinders’ tone had an irritated edge to it now.

“Speaking of loving connections,” Belle muttered. Then, in a louder voice that was merely edged with sarcasm, “coming, father!”

And with that she went back to her work.

*****

Mama Gimble grunted as she hoisted the tray of freshly baked teacakes onto the window ledge with not inconsiderable effort. She was a great believer in batch cooking, though in truth the copious amounts she had baked wouldn’t last more than about a day, the way people went at them. Still, there was something incredibly satisfying about that brief period of time between when a bake was complete and when it was eaten. The product was perfect in that moment, or as close as anything ever was, unspoiled by greedy hands stuffing greedy mouths to satisfy greedy bellies.

She was just about to turn from the window when her ears, keen despite her advanced years, detected a rustling from beyond the portal.

“Out you come, young whippersnapper,” she called, safe in the knowledge that everyone was young compared to her, child and adult alike. “You should know better than to try to be thieving my teacakes before they’re ready.”

There was a pause, as if the rustler was considering their options, and then a head rose slowly into view.

“Oh, it’s you, young Olim,” Mama Gimble croaked, her ever-present wrinkles growing deeper as her face broke into a wide, genuine smile. “No need to be creeping around in the bushes. You can have a teacake when they’re ready. You know that.”

“Thank you, Mama,” said Olim, his eyes fixed on the legendary delicacies. “In truth, I didn’t come for them.”

“You didn’t?” asked Gimble, genuinely surprised.

“I came to ask you something,” said Olim, “but then…”

Mama’s smile was all-knowing. “But then you smelled my baking and couldn’t resist,” she finished for him.

Olim nodded vigourously.

“Very well,” said Gimble, “what did you want to ask me?”

“Well,” Olim began, “I-”

“My eyes are up here, lad,” Mama Gimble admonished, gesturing towards the small orbs that glinted deep in her wrinkled features. “You can stop staring at my teacakes when you’re talking to me.”

“Sorry,” said Olim, dragging his gaze to the matriarch with great force of will.

“You were saying?” Gimble prompted.

“Oh, yes,” said Olim, remembering himself. “I wanted to get my mother a gift.”

“How very thoughtful.”

“But I didn’t know what to get her. I tried Liv and Belle but they didn’t know what to suggest. I want it to be something special; something to show her how much I love her.”

Gimble grinned at the youngster, regarding him with a cocked head. “That is very sweet of you. Joanna is lucky to have you as a son. But do you want to know a secret?”

Olim nodded with great enthusiasm.

“The greatest gift she could have is you.”

Olim frowned. “She already has me, though.”

“Are you always nice to her?”

“Well...no…”

“Always do as you’re told?”

“Not always…”

“Then maybe that kind, obedient version of you is a gift?”

Olim looked crestfallen. “I just wanted to get her a present. An actual present she can hold. I didn’t think it would be this hard.”

Gimble regarded the young gnome thoughtfully. “If it were me,” she suggested, “I’d ask someone who knows her really well.”

“I was trying to do this without my dad,” said Olim.

“Oh, not Young Jack!” Mama Gimble laughed. “No, not at all! I was talking about you!”

“Me?”

“Of course. You’re her son. What do you think she would like?”

“I don’t know!”

“Think about who she is,” Mama Gimble advised, “and then think up a gift that reflects that.”

“Well, I know she’s a nordic princess,” said Olim.

“That she is,” Mama Gimble agreed.

“And a warrior.”

“Indeed.”

“So I should get her something that’s to do with that?”

Gimble nodded. “Have a good think and I’m sure an answer will come to you.”

Olim’s frown deepened and his mouth worked as he cogitated. Then, like the sun rising over the horizon, a smile spread across his face.

“I’ve got it!” he exclaimed. “Thanks, Mama!”

“You’re welcome.”

And Olim was off, feet thumping on the grassy floor. After a few steps he halted. Then there were more careful footfalls and he reappeared at the window, his eyes once more on the teacakes.

“Go on, then,” said Gimble. “Just the one.”

“Thanks, Mama!” Olim repeated, scooping one of the still warm teacakes from the tray and running from sight.

*****

Joanna paused in the act of scrubbing the stone floor of the kitchen and stretched her neck one way and then the other, groaning slightly between the pops and cracks the manoeuvre elicited. When had she got so old?

“Are you alright, mum?”

Joanna turned her head. There, in the doorway, half-hidden behind the frame, Olim stood, an expression of innocent concern on his features.

“I’m fine,” said Joanna, smiling. “Just feeling my age.”

“But you’re not old.”

Joanna considered this. “No, probably not,” she conceded, “but it’s amazing how being a parent can make you feel like you are.”

She took in Olim’s posture, the way he was standing awkwardly in the doorway. His visible hand seemed uncertain as to what to do with itself, constantly fidgeting and repositioning.

“Olim,” said Joanna slowly, trepidation and curiosity combining in her voice, “what’s going on?”

“I’ve got you something!” he announced.

“Like a present?”

“Yes!”

Joanna’s mouth became a thin line, her brow furrowed and her eyes misted as she took in just how proud her offspring was of himself in that moment.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I love you.”

Joanna’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, Olim, that’s so sweet. I love you, too, but you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know,” said Olim. “That’s what makes it fun. It’s less special if you get someone something because you have to.”

Joanna accepted the unexpected wisdom with a nod.

“Do you want to see it?” Olim asked.

“Of course!”

With a grunt, Olim revealed what he had been hiding beyond the door frame. It dragged along the floor, such was its weight, and he almost overbalanced as he swung it around.

There, in his hands, was a mighty axe. Its grip was dark green leather and the head, inscribed with runes all about its undulating circumference, traced its sharp edge across the stone floor in a way that made Joanna wince to think of the marks it would leave behind.

She stared at the weapon as a multitude of questions cycled through her mind, each of them preventing any of the others from being uttered.

“I was trying to think of what you might like,” Olim continued, oblivious to the chaos he had instigated in his mother’s mind, “and I went and asked some people what they thought but they didn’t really know.”

“You asked other people,” said Joanna weakly, “and they suggested this?”

“Well, not exactly,” Olim admitted shuffling his feet and not meeting his mother’s gaze, “but then I spoke to Mama Gimble and she said to get you something that was like how you are as a person and I know you’re a princess but you’re, like, a warrior princess and all warriors need weapons and I know that you have your glaive but I thought you might like to try something else. It’s got runes on it!”

“You spoke to Mama.” Joanna’s voice was distant, her mind clinging to random facts in this sea of information.

“She gave me a teacake!”

“That’s nice.”

Olim looked from the axe to his mother. “So, do you like it?”

Joanna nodded, the seeds of suspicion beginning to germinate in her mind.

“It’s lovely,” she managed, “but I have to ask; where did you get it?”

“Thievery! Treachery! Skullduggery!”

Bjorn’s livid voice sounded from the street beyond.

“Ah,” said Joanna, and she didn’t need to see her son’s expression to know the guilt that would be splashed across it.

Thinking fast, she stepped forward, took the axe from her son, and held him close in a tight embrace.

“Thank you so much, Olim,” she said. “I will treasure this greatly.”

Olim returned the hug, squeezing with all his diminutive might as he sought to express his love for his mother, though Joanna sensed relief mixed into the gesture. She wasn’t about to ruin this moment for him. Olim had displayed thoughtfulness, effort and love in bringing her a gift that reflected who she was. It was something to savour, not mar by chiding him on the finer points of how he had appropriated the item.

She would return the axe in time.

Maybe when its rightful owner was slightly calmer.