There were noises from Gomja rummaging through the wreckage, and although Teldin knew he should see what the giff was up to, he felt it was much wiser to give the big creature some privacy. He needed some for himself, too. Teldin basked in the sun and deliberately tried not to think. It didn’t work; grief and sorrow came over him and sitting alone only highlighted the pain. He cursed himself for his weakness, for killing Liam and his family.
A regular beating noise, like stone whacking stone, roused the farmer. At first he thought it might be the drumming of a woodland grouse, but he quickly discarded that notion. Nearby was Gomja, beating at something with a heavy stone. A concerned Teldin strolled over, trying his best to look casual about the giffs activities. He did not care to trigger another of the alien’s tantrums.
The giff was crouched over a chest, the one Liam had found the day before, and was hammering at the lid with a big stone held in his two hands. The trooper was intent on his work and did not notice Teldin coming up behind him.
“Trooper Gomja,” Teldin said softly but firmly, “what are you doing?”
The startled giff dropped the rock at Teldin’s words. He scuttled around, his face dark purple with embarrassment. “I was just trying to open it, sir. There may be useful things inside.” From the way the giff sounded, Teldin was reminded of the time his father had caught him playing with his grandfather’s sword. Teldin could understand the giffs curiosity, but, all the same, he had to scowl disapprovingly. The giff looked contrite, his ears and jowls drooping.
Asharp reply hung on Teldin’s tongue, but he held it back. The chest was a distraction and one they both obviously needed. “Go ahead then,” the human ordered, watching from over the giffs broad shoulder.
After the battering Trooper Gomja had already given it, the chest was not difficult to open. One of the hinges was sprung and it only took a little prying with his dagger to work the other loose. Gomja pulled the entire lid off, then easily tossed it aside and carefully began removing the contents. Teldin watched interestedly over the giff’s shoulder. The chest held mostly books and papers. As the trooper pulled them out, Teldin made a stack of the thick, bound volumes. They looked like old ship’s logs, packed away for safekeeping. Pressed between them were folded sheets of heavy linen paper. Teldin opened one to find that it was a large sheet covered with symbols, diagrams, and notes in a strange language. The farmer held it up for Gomja to see.
“Rudders-star charts, I think,” the giff answered after a brief look, “for navigating. The captain had many of these.”
“These aren’t charts for any stars over Krynn. Where’s the Balance or Paladine?” Teldin commented as he studied the symbols, trying to match them to the positions of the constellations he knew.
“It is probably for a different sphere, not yours.” Gomja looked at the chart that Teldin held in front of him.
“Sphere?” Teldin asked, cocking his head slightly toward the giff.
Gomja struggled to explain. Navigation and charts were clearly not his strong suits. “There are other worlds like this one, but different. These are spheres.”
“You mean like Solinari or the other moons.” Teldin thought he understood.
“No, sir,” Gomja corrected, unconsciously addressing Teldin as his superior. “The spheres hold moons, worlds, even stars.
“So you come from another sphere?” Teldin asked the giff.
“Yes, sir."
Comes from the Abyss, more likely, Teldin thought. Yet the gift’s explanation seemed to make sense. Certainly Teldin, in all his travels, had never seen or heard of anything that resembled a giff. “Grandfather always wondered if there was something out in the night sky, beyond the moons. Maybe he was right.” His grandfather, Halev, had shown Teldin there was more to the world than just the farm, and maybe there was more than even his grandfather knew. Teldin’s father never did understand that or any of Teldin’s other dreams. Amdar had no time for dreams. That was one of the reasons Teldin had run away to fight in the war.
“Let’s finish this,” Teldin decided, breaking out of the coil of his memories.
The giff returned his attention to emptying the chest. Out came more books and papers, then a layer of clothing. Teldin held up a shirt, clearly too small for his lanky frame. It was richly made with silken fabric and gold embroidery. Teldin carefully folded the shirt and set it aside.
The last things in the chest were three bags and a long, leather-wrapped bundle. Two of the bags were rather large. Teldin opened the first sack, only to find it contained a dirty white powder. The second was equally disappointing, containing a coarse gray powder. The third pouch was no better, for it held nothing but lead marbles. Carefully undoing the thongs on the leather bundle, Teldin unwrapped two short, curved sticks, bound in metal and each fitted with a tube. Strange mechanisms protruded from the sides. They had the same general look of the stick Gomja had threatened him with the night the Penumbra had crashed.
“By the blessing of the Great Captain,” Gomja huskily breathed, “he has remembered me!” He slid closer. Even on his knees the giff was not a small person.
Teldin picked one of the tubes up and examined it. He shook it and heard something rattle. He looked into the tube, but it was dark. A short metal rod fell out. The mechanisms on the side seemed to move stiffly, and one of them held a small piece of flint. Teldin tried to hold the stick the way he remembered Gomja holding it. Pointing the tube toward the giff, he demanded, “What is it?”
Gomja stepped out of the direct line of the barrel. “It is a pistol. May I have it?”
“Pis-tol? Last night, you pointed this at me and it exploded. Why?” Teldin made no effort to hide his suspicion.
The giff bit at his lip, a comical sight for one so heavily jowled. “I thought you meant harm to my captain.”
“So this is a weapon, isn’t it?”
The giff nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Gnomish work,” Teldin speculated as he turned the pistol over and over in his hands. The gnomes were notorious inventors and tinkerers, equally notorious for their inventions’ spectacular failures. “Must be, from the way it blew up. For now, I’ll keep them,” Teldin told the giff as he wrapped the bizarre weapons back up.
“What about the bags?” the giff asked, trying to conceal his disappointment.
For a moment, Teldin considered claiming those, too. He couldn’t fathom what their purpose was. “Wizard things,” Teldin guessed. “I say leave them, but you can take them if you want.” Magic was not something Teldin cared to dabble with. It was too dangerous, unpredictable, and even corrupting.
The giff carefully took them up and checked to make sure the strings on each bag were tight. Satisfied, he tucked the bundles into the dirty orange folds of his sash. “Thank you, sir.”
The giffs mammoth jaw opened in a huge yawn, exposing two rows of huge, blockish teeth.
Teldin suppressed a bemused smile. “When did you last sleep?” the farmer asked. He felt somewhat rested while his companion looked far ftom soothed.
“Two days, sir,” Gomja replied, closing his huge maw.
Apparently, Teldin figured, being blasted unconscious by your own weapon didn’t count as sleep. “Then go get some rest,” Teldin gently said. Gomja opened his mouth to protest, but Teldin cut him off. “That was an order, Trooper Gomja,” he said firmly.
The giff let out a big sigh. “Yes, sir. I will, sir.”
Teldin pointed to the shade of a big elm. “Right now- over there.” Gomja nodded and with no more protesting hauled himself into the cool gloom, where he fixed up a simple bed, using a root for a pillow. Within a few minutes, the leaves overhead were shaking from the giffs deep snores.
His own worries momentarily put aside, Teldin leaned back against the tree. “Someone should stay on guard," he said to himself. He had barely finished the words before his own eyes shut and sleep again overtook him.