Old Rem didn't like people. He didn't even like children, let alone human children. Old Rem actually didn't like anyone. Therefore, when he found an unconscious human child while gathering herbs, he was tempted to turn around and leave the youngling to its fate.
He shuffled his feet in disgust and muttered a few curses to himself. That day, he had barely descended from the pass into the mist of the Arali Swamps, where he often went to gather herbs. He always set out early in the morning, before dawn, to ensure the herbs had the right balance of water and medicinal properties. At first, he didn't even notice the child; it was muddy and hidden among the swampy stems and grasses. But when he bent down to pluck a few stalks of marsh grass, he glimpsed the still child's hands. The child lay at the edge of one of the pools, its legs submerged in murky water. Its hair, matted with mud and blood, covered its face, and it was only when Rem crouched and brushed the hair away to see if it was breathing that he realized it was a little girl.
He straightened up and spat. His hatred for humans was so profound that he turned away from the girl and started to leave—his urge to gather herbs had soured. But after a few steps, he stopped. Somewhere deep inside, he heard a voice, like a sharp thorn, urging him that this wasn't right. If I leave, I’ll be just like them.
The thought infuriated him. He cursed again but eventually returned to the girl. He grasped her with his old, wrinkled hands, so different from her slender arms, and pulled her from the pool. Leech-covered, her right boot missing, and her leg scraped and bleeding, the skin around the wounds was reddening with infection. Rem pulled a knife from his pack and carefully removed the leeches with the precision of someone who had performed such tasks many times before.
"If you survive," he muttered darkly, "I'll sell you."
He shifted his herb sack to his belly and hoisted the girl onto his back. He felt her shallow breathing, but she didn’t wake. Despite her clothes soaked with swampy water, she was as light as a rag doll, and he carried her with a brisk pace.
The path rose and wound through the hills like a snake. His large, bare feet deftly trod over the stones, and even today, burdened with an unfamiliar load, he didn’t stumble or fall. By noon, he had crossed the pass and was approaching the settlement. His house stood on the outskirts, far from the others. He never sought the company of other creatures, and today he didn’t want anyone to see him with a human child on his back. He quickly slipped through the gate, crossed the garden, and entered his home.
The house was small, with only two rooms. One served as a storage room, the other as both a bedroom and kitchen. The entire house was filled with the scent of stored herbs and medicines that Rem made from them.
He laid the child on his bed, set down his pack, and took a mortar from the cupboard. He fetched water from the barrel outside into a metal pot and set it to boil on the stove. Muttering herb names to himself, he prepared sachets and jars on the table.
"Calendula... Filipendula... Plantago..."
He ground the herbs in the mortar and poured the mixture into the water to make a decoction.
He stripped the child's wet clothes and carefully cleaned her with a cloth soaked in the herbal decoction. He smeared the wounds and scratches on her legs from the leeches with a strongly scented ointment. Her hands bore many scratches, tiny cuts, and hangnails, evidence that she had been struggling through the undergrowth of the Arali Swamps for some time. He washed the blood from her hair—not her own, as he found no large bleeding wounds.
So, are you a lost orphan or some kind of sacrifice? he asked himself inwardly.
Finally, he dressed the girl in one of his old shirts.
The girl still did not wake, but she developed a fever. He boiled several other herbs and soaked a cloth handkerchief in them. He dripped the decoction into the girl’s mouth, drop by drop.
He spent the whole afternoon with her. He gave her water drop by drop and waited. By evening, her fever had subsided.
Rem felt no joy from this. He was proud of his herbalist skills, yes—but honestly, he still doubted deep down that he should save her. What could he expect when the brat woke up? Lots of screaming in a common language he disliked speaking. Troubles calming her down. And what about explaining to others where she came from? And what the hell was he ultimately going to do with her?
"It would be better for both of us if you just died," he growled as he dripped more liquid into her mouth.
She didn’t die.
The next morning, she woke up. Rem had fallen asleep in a chair at the table and was awakened by her whimpering. She was huddled on the bed, pressed against the wall, staring at him with large, frightened eyes. She clutched the blanket to her body so tightly her knuckles were white. She breathed erratically and looked like she was about to cry, but at least she wasn't screaming—yet.
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"Does anything hurt?" he tried to speak to her clumsily in the common tongue.
She continued to stare at him with those big blue eyes full of fear and didn't move a muscle. He grumbled. He had expected some kind of response from her.
"Do you understand me?" he tried again, trying to suppress his irritated tone.
She blinked and swallowed. "What are you?"
The weak, unfamiliar voice grated in the room.
Rem raised an eyebrow. "You don't recognize a goblin?"
She shook her head, staring in fascination at his greenish skin. Fear was giving way to childlike curiosity as her eyes roamed from his face to his hands on the table and down to his bare feet. He was bald, with a large crooked nose and wrinkled skin. His large ears were adorned with several earrings. "What's a goblin?"
"An elder race."
She was silent. Then she hesitantly said, "The only elders are nymphs, elves, and sylphs."
He laughed, but his laughter was bitter. "You are a fool."
She whimpered, shivered, and pulled the blanket to her face.
Rem sensed the girl was falling back into a state of fear and rigidity. He took a slow breath to calm himself and said in the calmest voice he could muster, "I may be a goblin, but I don't intend to harm you. If I did, you wouldn't have woken up."
The girl slowly lowered the blanket and cautiously looked at him. Then she quickly glanced around the room.
"I'm an herbalist," he added when he saw her interest in the shelves filled with flasks and woven sachets.
"Herbalist?" she returned her gaze to his face. "What's that?"
"It means I gather plants and make medicines from them," he said, pointing to the bowls on the table, which contained the ointments and decoctions he had used to heal her.
The girl relaxed her tense muscles slightly but remained pressed against the wall.
"What's your name?"
"I'm not supposed to tell strangers."
Brat! Rem wanted to curse loudly, but instead, he pressed his lips firmly together and frowned.
"As you wish," he said coldly. "I'll give you a name myself." He gazed into her blue eyes, which reminded him of a herb from his garden. "You'll be Aconitum."
"I don't like it."
"I don't care, you'll get used to it."
"I want to go home."
"Then go," he snapped angrily, waving a hand toward the door. He was getting tired of her. "I'm curious if you'll survive more than one night back in the swamps!"
Her eyes widened even more than before, and she started shaking. Upon waking, she initially remembered nothing. Rem’s decoctions and ointments not only soothed the body but calmed the mind. But when the goblin mentioned the swamps, memories of the pain she had endured suddenly returned. "Daddy!" she sobbed and started crying. She cried and cried, seemingly inconsolable.
Rem just stared at her, pondering what to do. Finally, he got up and pulled a dark bottle of viscous liquid from his stash of tinctures. "Drink this and stop bawling," he shoved the unstoppered bottle at her, and his stern voice brooked no refusal.
The girl took the bottle with trembling hands and sipped between sobs. Her face immediately twisted. "Bleh!"
The liquid was like thick soup, sharp and bitter, burning all the way down to her stomach. But it served its purpose—the girl stopped crying, though she coughed and grimaced. Then she suddenly felt a strange warmth spreading through her body, and her head felt light. She wiped her tears with her hands and suddenly noticed how scratched they were. She began examining them in surprise.
"What happened to your father?" Rem asked when he saw the elixir had worked.
Rem's question brought her back to the present. She felt tears stinging her eyes again, but no flood of sobs followed. "Soldiers hurt him."
"What kind of soldiers?" he frowned. "Some Elder race?"
She shook her head. "His soldiers. They stabbed him with a sword, and then we ran. Brother fell, and then I ran alone."
Unconsciously, she began to clutch the blanket in her fingers. Her nose was running.
"So humans attacked you?" Rem's frown deepened.
She nodded.
He wasn’t pleased with this information at all. He knew the political situation between the Elders and the Union was tense, and the Arali Swamps were a flashpoint threatening to spark a new war. The Elders claimed the land based on inheritance rights; the Union wanted to seize it from a position of power. Both sides, however, had carefully avoided any clashes for over thirty years, with not a single sword clashing along the borders. Neither side wanted a new war, so they tried to politely ignore each other. Like small children refusing to speak to each other and pretending the other didn't exist. If, however, there had been some skirmish, some murders, even among humans themselves... Rem had a bad feeling about it. He vividly remembered what it was like in the last war—how many lives were lost, how many dreams crushed into dust, and how many family ties torn apart. Blood, screams, the sneers of traitors on both sides, feelings of guilt...he clenched his fists unconsciously. When both sides were too exhausted to continue the war any longer, they had signed peace treaties with great fanfare. The world was divided into three parts—the lands of the Elders, the Union of humans, and neutral territories. Celebratory songs were composed, and representatives of the Elders shook hands with humans, hoping they had learned from the conflict. That friendly and commercial ties would flourish instead of violence...what fools they had all been then. How long would the fragile peace last? How long until blood flowed instead of water again?
"Mister Goblin?"
Now she interrupted his thoughts. "Hm?"
"I need to pee."
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