The Wee Free Men

know, I don’t know,” moaned the toad. “Sorry, what were we talking about?”
    “I meant what do the pictsies want me to do now?”
    “Oh, I don’t think it works like that,” said the toad. “You’re the kelda. You say what’s to be done.”
    “Why can’t Fion be kelda? She’s a pictsie!”
    “Can’t help you there,” said the toad.
    “Can I be of serrrvice?” said a voice by Tiffany’s ear.
    She turned her head and saw, on one of the galleries that ran around the cave, William the gonnagle.
    Up close, he was noticeably different from the other Feegles. His hair was neater, and braided into one pigtail. He didn’t have as many tattoos. He spoke differently too, more clearly and slowly than the others, sounding his Rs like a drumroll.
    “Er, yes,” said Tiffany. “Why can’t Fion be kelda here?”
    William nodded. “A good question,” he said politely. “But, ye ken, a kelda cannot wed her brrrrotherrrr. She must go to a new clan and wed a warrrrior there.”
    “Well, why couldn’t that warrior come here?”
    “Because the Feegles here would not know him. They’d have no rrrrespect for him.” William made ‘respect’ sound like an avalanche.
    “Oh. Well…what was that about the Queen? You were going to say something and they stopped you.”
    William looked embarrassed. “I don’t think I can tell you aboot—”
    “I am the temporary kelda,” said Tiffany stiffly.
    “Aye. Well…there was a time when we lived in the Queen’s world and served her, before she grew so cold. But she tricked us, and we rrrrebelled. It was a dark time. She does not like us. And that is all I will say,” William added.
    Tiffany watched Feegles going in and out of the kelda’s chamber. Something was going on in there.
    “They’re burying her in the other part of the mound,” said William without being asked. “Wi’ the other keldas o’ this clan.”
    “I thought they would be more…noisy,” said Tiffany.
    “She was their motherrr,” said William. “They do not want to shout. Their hearts are too full for worrrrds. In time we will hold a wake to help her back to the land o’ the living, and that’ll be a loud one, I can promise ye. We’ll dance the FiveHundredAndTwelvesome Reel to the tune o’ ‘The Devil Among The Lawyers’ and eat and drink, and I daresay my nephews will ha’ headaches the size o’ a sheep.” The old Feegle smiled briefly. “But for now, each Feegle remembers her in silence. We dinna mourn like ye do, ye ken. We mourn for them that has tae stay behind.”
    “Was she your mother too?” said Tiffany quietly.
    “Nay. She was my sister. Did she no’ tell ye that when a kelda goes to a new clan, she takes a few o’ her brothers with her? To be alone among strangers would be too much for a heart to bear.” The gonnagle sighed. “Of course, in time, after the kelda weds, the clan is full of her sons and is no’ so lonely for her.”
    “It must be for you, though,” said Tiffany.
    “You’re a quick one, I’ll grant ye that,” said William. “I am the last o’ those who came. When this is o’er, I’ll seek the leave of the next kelda to return to my ain folk in the mountains. This is a fiiine fat country and this is a fiiine bonny clan my nephews have, but I would like to die in the heather where I was borrrned. If you will excuse me, kelda…”
    He walked away and was lost in the shadows of the mound.
    Tiffany suddenly wanted to go home. Perhaps it was just William’s sadness, but now she felt shut up in the mound.
    “I’ve got to get out of here,” she muttered.
    “Good idea,” said the toad. “You’ve got to find the place where the time is different, for one thing.”
    “But how can I do that?” wailed Tiffany. “You can’t see time!”
    She stuck her arms through the entrance hole and pulled herself up into the fresh air.
    There was a big old clock in the farmhouse, and the time on it got set once a week. That is, when her father went to the market in Creel Springs, he made a note of the position of the hands on the big clock there, and when he got home, he moved the hands on their clock to the same position. It was really just for show, anyway. Everyone took their time from the sun, and the sun couldn’t go wrong.
    Now Tiffany lay among the trunks of the old thorn bushes, whose leaves rustled continuously in the breeze. The mound was like a little island in the endless turf; late primroses and even a few ragged foxgloves grew up