Through a Hidden Cave by the River

Dylan could hear the barking of dogs.

They were not small, that the boy well knew, but he did not want to stay still long enough to find out. He instead ran as quick as his teenage legs could carry him. His coat tore on branches and nettles stung his ankles, but he could not stop. His regret was near instant.

Dylan, after all, was a troubled child. He was often the source of his mother's sighs and of the consternation of every school teacher he ever had. He loved his pranks and escapades with his friends far more than his chores and lessons. Maths gave him a headache, Shakespeare seemed antiquated and senseless, and science made about as much sense to him as Shakespeare. Beyond basic writing and arithmetic, his teachers and parents had given up on teaching him anything meaningful. So, naturally, he skipped out on school altogether if he and his friends could slip away fast enough.

This day had been one of those days. He and his friends had been eyeing a seemingly abandoned government property just outside town along the River Neath. The children hardly ever saw anyone there, and all they could see guarding the place had been a simple chain-link fence topped with a generous coil of rusting razor wire. To Dylan and his friends, it would be simple to cut the fencing with a pair of bolt cutters one of them had stolen from their father's workshop; but how often do the best laid plans of youth run awry? One dare later and Dylan was wriggling through the hole they cut

At the first bark, the other children had bolted, leaving poor Dylan caught halfway through the fencing. Dylan managed to untangle himself, receiving a long gash on his cheek for his effort, and made a break for the woods along the river. The hounds refused to give up the chase, and Dylan kept running.

Suddenly, Dylan tripped over a tree root and went tumbling down the river bank, nearly knocking his head against a rock. Adrenaline coursed through his blood, making his recovery swift as he hug the edge of the bank where the loamy soil was slowly sloughing off into the river. The barking was getting louder and louder and Dylan was waiting for the inevitable. That is, until he saw it.

Dylan saw a cave in the bank, nestled between some tree roots and partially hidden by bushes. Without hesitation, the boy crawled inside, getting his school uniform smudged with mud and damp. The crevice was surprisingly deep, so he scraped himself further inside. He only stopped to consider how deep he had crawled after he could no longer hear the dogs. He breathed the stale, moist air in this hollow beneath the earth and sat himself against the wall.

"Bloody hell," he said to himself, feeling for the phone in his pocket in the pitch darkness.

He found it without difficulty and turned the screen on. The moment he tilted it forward for light, his heart nearly jumped out of his chest and his phone nearly jumped out of his hand.

Before him crouched two little men, in a very literal sense. They appeared as though they were fully grown adults, just of a size shorter than Dylan's pubescent frame by a good head or two. The three of them sat in silence for a long minute.

"Dís éit?" One of them finally asked.

Dylan raised and eyebrow and spoke hoarsely, "What?"

The two little men looked at each other.

"Agómeddyn autón," One said to the other.

"What are you saying?" Dylan asked.

"Na," the second replied with a nod.

Dylan wiped his eyes, hoping the two men would disappear with a blink. He grew anxious when they didn't. His voice cracked as he said, "What the hell?"

The first little man reached over and tugged on Dylan's sleeve. "Hepou."

Dylan stood frozen.

"Hepou!" The first one repeated as the second man walked further into the cave in a relaxed crouch.

Dylan blinked again, "What do you want me to do?"

"Hepou! Hepou!" He said, continuously tugging Dylan's sleeve while turning to follow his companion.

"You want me to follow?" Dylan asked.

At this point, the little man gave up and began walking slowly behind the other.

"I guess I am following..." Dylan said aloud to himself as he tried to stand at a crouch but hit his head on the ceiling of the cave with a shower of dirt and pebbles on his shoulders. Dazed, he continued at a crawl.

Dylan did his best to keep up with the little men, but his knees and hands were getting scraped by the stones and roots. He did his best to hold up his phone for light, but he needed to use both hands at times to clear tighter areas. Soon, the dirt and roots transitioned to slick rock and the passage became wider and taller with each passing moment. Before long, he was able to crouch and follow his guides more quickly, and then he was able to stand.

He was suddenly blinded as he rounded a corner and beheld the sight at the mouth of the cave. The two men stood there dusting themselves off and donning small white and gold silken caps as they waited for him.

"Spéus! Spéus!" They both said, waving for him to follow.

Dylan had barely any time to dust the dirt from himself as he stood in awe at the exit. Light filtered down from thick white clouds that entirely filled the sky above and glittered over the sylvan landscape. He stood at the end of a well-trodden dirt path surrounded by trees whose leaves swayed with golden, pink, and violet hues. Off to one side in the bower, he could see a small group of huts with more little men and women playing and chasing each other, laughing all the while. They each wore bright white gowns trimmed in gold.

Ahead, his two guides were still waving for him. Without further delay, he followed close behind. As they walked down the path, Dylan could now clearly see just how small his guides really were. His heart still hammered fast in his chest, but its protest was drowned out by the boy's abject awe. One of the little men leading him passed what appeared to be a large water skin to Dylan.

"Pína, throupón, pína."

Dylan uncorked the skin and was immediately met with a strong, pungent -yet familiar- herbaceous aroma. He took a small sip from the skin and nearly spit it back out. The fluid almost tasted like warm milk with a strong undertone of something else. He had a vague memory of his mother's spice cupboard: saffron, perhaps.

The little men nodded, one making a tipping motion to his lips with his thumb and pinky finger. "Na! Pína!"

Dylan hesitantly took a larger sip and swallowed. His stomach suddenly felt warm and his limbs felt light. The ache in his muscles completely ceased and a smile crept onto his face. One of the little men motioned to take the water skin back and Dylan obliged.

The little men led Dylan along the path for a long while until the forest ended. Seemingly out of nowhere, the trees became a large village nestled at the foot of a wide, squat castle on the crown of a hill. Dylan did his best to keep track of his guides as the little men and women grew numerous. In the commotion, he nearly tripped over a yellow ball that had fallen by his feet, glinting softly in the light. He squatted down to pick it up and found it surprisingly smooth and heavy. He recognized its material almost immediately: pure gold. His head felt dizzy as he looked around himself again. He saw the gold thread in everyone's clothes, gold in the nails and supports of houses, gold inlaid on nearly every surface of every object. Everything around him glowed and glittered such that he almost didn't see the little woman shyly holding her hands up to catch the ball.

"Oh," Dylan said.

He heaved the ball and struggled to throw it, though not entirely due to its weight. He did, however, manage to lob it and the little woman caught it and ran off with it with no difficultly at all. Dylan then saw her with a group of other little men and women, each tossing and hitting the ball to each other. He thought he saw the lot of them trying to catch clandestine glimpses of him, setting his already-frayed nerves on edge. He wanted to continue as soon as possible.

After a minute of searching, he was able to pick his guides back out of the crowd and followed them towards the castle. When they finally reached the gates, he was glad to be out of the dizzying atmosphere of the village. His relief did not last very long when he noticed the castle's gates were flanked by two little guards with heavy golden plate armor and gilded miniature halberds they had crossed over each other to block entry. The boy relaxed a little when his guides talked with the guards in their strange language, though his relief was bounded by the fact that they were pointing and gesturing at him every couple words.

Eventually, the guards uncrossed their halberds and cleared the gate. Dylan's guides tugged at his sleeves and bade him enter. Dylan followed willingly into the bailey of the castle. Dylan had certainly seen his fair share of castles growing up, usually in some degree of ruin, but none looked at all like this. He gaped in awe over the verdance within the walls: trees of many hues lined the paths and gardens overflowing with herbs and produce hugged the sides of various outbuildings. He saw one little man, a small golden sickle in hand, tending to an overgrowing patch of herbs. He wiped his brow with a wide grin and waved at the two guides. They waved back. As they passed, Dylan could not help but notice that the gardener could not take his eyes off him.

Dylan's guides then hurried him to what appeared to be the doors to the castle keep. To his guides, the gilded oaken doors must have looked grandiose; but to Dylan it was about the height of an average doorframe. Because of this, he found himself dizzy the moment he crossed the threshold, as even to him the hall beyond seemed cavernous. Great stained glass windows let in copious light of emerald and indigo and amber hues. Bright, golden-threaded tapestries covered the bare stone walls. Little men and women flitted about the room in more elegant and refined draperies adorned with golden baubles of all shapes and sizes. There was not a frown to be found among the crowd of the keep, save for one. At the very rear of the hall -in the exact center- was a gilded mahogany throne, and sat within it was a dour little man with a crown of pure gold: the king of the little folk. With a strike of his scepter on the cold marble floor, the room quieted.

The king cleared his little throat and spoke with a surprising authority that make Dylan shudder. "Allanwr, pwy wyt ti?"

The king rolled his eyes as Dylan remained silent, then he tried again. "Aliene, qui es?"

Dylan looked back and forth to the quiet hall. For all he knew, he was casting a spell on him. With a bit of courage, he stammered a simple, "What?"

The king's face beamed, albeit with a slight scoff. "Thou speakest English! But of course, how I forget the years. Speak, Englishman, what is thy name?"

Dylan furrowed his brow in disgust at being called English, but even he knew this was neither the time or place to press it. "I am Dylan."

"Well, Dylan," spoke the King, "I am Essándros, son of Aiaios, King of the Mikrópoi. I bid thee welcome to my court, throupón."

Dylan struggled to maintain eye-contact. "Um... thanks."

"Thou art far from home, giant one." The king said, leaning back in his throne. "Tell me, why didst thou come to my kingdom?"

Dylan's mouth began to feel dry. "Well, your majesty, sir, I -uh- came here quite by accident. I was -um- lost, you see..."

The King cocked his head somewhat.

Dylan forced a swallow. "... And I found this cave here, where these two found me. It seemed they wanted me to come."

Essándros leaned forward and looked to the two guides, who were lowering their heads in deference. "Ára alédde tautá esti?"

They both nodded. "Na, Basiléo."

"I shall ask thee again," the king said to Dylan, resting his scepter to the side and clasping his hands together over his lap, "how didst thou find this place?"

"I -uh- got lost, your kingship." He replied. "Honest."

Essándros chuckled haughtily. "Last chance, outsider. How didst thou come upon the cave?"

Dylan gulped desperately. He had seen this face upon too many schoolmasters... as well as his mother. "I... I was chased by dogs. I wasn't where I was supposed to be, sir."

The king sat back with a menacing grin. "At last, Truth graces us."

Essándros nodded to the guards at the door, who loudly clanked together as they crossed their golden halberds in front of it. Dylan saw this and nearly fainted.

"I am in a generous mood this day, child of the throupói. I shall let thee live, but thou shalt repay my generosity by becoming my son's personal servant. Thou shalt stay here forevermore!"

"Wait," Dylan pleaded, "I gotta go home! My mother will be worried sick. Oh, dear Lord..."

The king was not swayed. "A more generous offer thou shalt not find from me. Thou comest to my kingdom, thou bringst the treacherous Lies of thy kind, and thou wishest leave to tell all and sundry of what thou hast seen here?"

"No," Dylan said all-too-quickly, "I would never! You have my word, I would never tell a soul!"

"Wert thou granted leave," spoke the king, "and perhaps wert able to purloin some of our gold, a trifling substance for which thy kind suffer greed and hunger, wouldst thou not tell of whence thou hadst come upon it?"

Dylan found no words to say.

Essándros sighed. "We made this mistake once before in the time of my father. It was another boy such as thee, and it nearly cost us much! We allowed him leave to come and go as he pleased, until he tried to steal what wasn't his... Thou shalt neither hunger nor thirst, thou shalt neither want nor suffer ill, all of mine that is mine to give will be given freely to thee; but thou wilt remain here for the remainder of thy days."

Tears burst from Dylan's eyes as Essándros barked orders in his language to various guards and servants. Dylan quickly found himself surrounded by little men and women, no matter where he turned to flee.

"Welcome home, throupón," the king finally said in English, "and welcome to mine house."

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This story is loosely based on and inspired by the Welsh folktale of Elidore, written in the 12th century by Gerald of Wales, archdeacon of Brecon.