Months went by. Aconitum had learned to read words in the common tongue and was slowly getting better at writing too. Rem wrinkled his nose at her progress — she still seemed stupid and slow to him. Her handwriting looked like the scratches of a frightened cat, and when she read, she separated the syllables so strongly that it made him tap his foot nervously or clutch his head while waiting for the next one.

Sometimes, with a loud curse, he would slam the book shut and send her out to the garden to tend to the herbs. When Aconitum was alone at home, she secretly borrowed his books and continued reading. Nervously wiping her sweaty hands, she was afraid Rem would find out. Of course, Rem knew the little brat was messing with his books, but he let her be — at least he didn’t have to listen to her reading.

When a ship with scribal goods docked at the port, Rem bought her a small but thick notebook of blank paper and several pencils made from slowly charred wood. He told her to write down the recipes for herbal remedies he was teaching her. But for Aconitum, the notebook became much more important — she began to write short notes about the conversations and events she experienced on the other side of the pages. She tried to save paper and wrote in small handwriting, improving her writing as she realized that without proper care, she couldn’t read her own notes later.

Often, she and Rem would sit in the garden in the evenings, watching the sky change color. The sun set quickly behind the barrier of hills, painting the sky with a play of pink, orange, and red hues. They either sat in silence or she listened to his stories about the Elders. Those stories fascinated her the most — she devoured information about the undines, was terrified by tales of the wildlings, and marveled at the intelligence of the gnomes. He even taught her a few languages of the Elders, though she struggled with pronunciation — Rem always laughed at her mispronunciations. Yet, she could pronounce his curses perfectly.

One evening, he explained how goblins acquire their names.

"The first name is given to us by our parents; the second is connected to a place that is tied to us. Goblins are earth-dwelling creatures; we are connected to the soil and the stones. We draw strength from the earth and obey it. The third name we choose ourselves, based on our experiences, during a special ceremony. My full name is ‘Remmurch Skrird Nurat’ — in your language, it would be roughly ‘righteous limestone fugitive.’ But most goblins shorten their names."

"Why?"

"It saves time when you're yelling at someone."

She frowned. She was slowly learning to recognize when the old goblin was making fun of her and when he was being serious. "Why fugitive?"

He sighed. "I fled when humans destroyed my home."

He fixed her with a gaze. They were back to this topic again. Humans.

The last remnants of light reflected in her eyes, changing their color. He could no longer be as angry at her for being born human. But he certainly hadn’t forgiven her for it.

"What are humans, anyway? If goblins are connected to the earth, what are humans connected to?" she asked thoughtfully.

Rem scratched his chin. "That’s complicated," he muttered. "No one really knows for sure. Some say that humans aren’t connected to anything — that water, air, fire, or earth don’t speak to them, and that’s why they don’t value them. Others claim that with humans, a fifth element appeared — akasha, or ether — and that it’s inaccessible to the Elders. Only humans can perceive it. Personally, I think that’s nonsense. Even human mages admit that when they learn to control an element, it’s one of the original four. I think humans are just slightly smarter animals who learned to wear clothes."

She looked sad. "I think I don’t want to be human."

"Well, you can’t change that. You were born that way, and that’s how you’ll be until you die."

She stared at the sky, deep in thought. "I should shorten my name too, like you."

"You’re not a goblin."

"It doesn’t matter. A goblin gave me my name, so I can. Aconitum is long," she wrinkled her nose, "Aco sounds strange. Nitum... No, I’ll be Nita."

Rem shrugged. "If you say so, but in the goblin way, you’d have to add a place name. You’d be Nita of the bog, since that’s where you appeared."

She was silent for a long time. It was the new moon, and the garden was completely dark. She hugged her knees, hidden in the darkness.

"Human names are ugly. Maybe that’s why I don’t remember them," she whispered.

"What don’t you remember?" he asked, just as quietly.

"The names of my parents. They were just ‘mom’ and ‘dad.’ I don’t know their names." Tears stung her cheeks.

It was the first time she had said anything out loud about her family.

Then, without saying goodnight, she got up and went back into the house. Rem remained seated in the garden, staring at the dark sky, lost in thought.

Since that moment in the garden, Nita hadn’t mentioned her parents for many weeks. She probably wouldn’t have spoken at all if it hadn’t been for the accident.

Rem had gotten used to taking Nita with him to the village more and more often. She had just learned how to greet properly in the goblin language — the other goblins laughed at her, but they were willing to respond to her goblin greeting. This excited her so much that she wanted Rem to teach her how to make basic purchases.

They were passing by the docks towards the market where a slaughter was being prepared. Several goblins were holding a pig, and one of them tried to knock it out with a blow to the head. Not very successfully — the pig squealed desperately and thrashed about. Another goblin jumped in and slit the pig’s throat with a long knife just as Rem and Nita were passing by. Though the goblins tried to catch the blood in a bucket, as the pig struggled, the blood splattered onto Nita.

Her hands began to tremble. She stared at the blood on her clothes with terrified eyes, but in reality, she wasn’t seeing pig’s blood — she was seeing her brother, with blood pouring from his pierced throat. Suddenly, she was back in the swamps, and her brother’s heavy body was dragging her down. She felt a crushing weight on her chest, gasping for air but unable to draw breath — she wanted to scream, but not a sound escaped her throat.

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A sharp slap to the face snapped her out of it. She uncertainly touched her cheek and her vision focused. The pig was no longer squealing. Rem was glaring at her, rubbing his palm. "Let’s go," he hissed, sounding angrier than usual.

She stumbled after him, holding her cheek. He led her to a small sandy beach at the edge of the village, where he pointed to the calm surface of the sea.

"Wash it off before it dries."

She obeyed him sluggishly. The cold water embraced her ankles at the first step, sending a shiver through her body. Two more steps and the water reached her waist. She shivered, but the cold brought back a sense of calm. She began rubbing the fabric with her hands, and the bloodstains slowly dissolved. But not entirely.

"Wash your face too!" Rem called from the shore.

She obeyed. She scooped water into her hands and splashed it onto her face — only to start spluttering. From the shore, she heard Rem’s malicious laughter.

"Not tasty, is it?"

She shook herself and crawled back to the shore. "It’s disgusting!"

"It’s saltwater, you idiot. You’ve never bathed in the sea?"

She shook her head. "When we sailed on the ship, I heard the sailors. They said seawater kills."

"That’s right, seawater can’t be drunk. You can’t water herbs with it either."

He sat down on the sand, and Nita slumped down beside him. She immediately regretted it, as the sand stuck to her wet skin, making her itch.

"What did you see?"

She was silent. She poked holes in the sand with her finger.

"The sooner you tell me, the sooner you’ll get rid of it."

She drew circles around the holes. Rem was about to give up, but Nita gathered her courage and began to speak. She spoke of how the pig’s blood reminded her of her brother’s blood and his dying gurgle. How she woke up at night, feeling as though the swamp wanted to swallow her. How she still heard the swish of arrows and saw the gleam of a sword in her father’s belly. How she heard the shouts of the soldiers chasing her.

The whole time, she spoke to the holes in the sand, and Rem listened quietly. When she finished, he said only one thing.

"What else can you expect from humans?"

Those words seemed to spread warmth in her chest, soothing her. Suddenly, it was possible to shift the blame onto someone else and rid herself of the burden of pain. Yes, she thought, what else? Humans, damned, miserable humans.

That evening, she fell asleep peacefully in a room scented with herbs.

The following days drifted by with a newfound lightness, as if Nita had shed some invisible burden. She laughed more often, while Rem watched her with a slight smirk, pondering whether her joyful demeanor annoyed him or if he found it oddly satisfying.

One afternoon, when it was too hot outside to work, Nita decided to search through the old chest in the storage room. Rem had mentioned that it held volumes no one had opened in years, and the thought intrigued her. While Rem was absorbed in mixing herbal remedies, Nita leafed through one of the dusty tomes. As her fingers glided over the yellowed pages, her gaze was suddenly captivated by an image that seemed to draw her in, almost hypnotically. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. The image depicted a man, radiating an aura of power. Around him floated vague, indistinct figures — sketched in outline, yet blurred at the edges.

Beneath the image was an inscription in a language she hadn’t seen before.

клѧтволъжецъ

She thrust the book under Rem’s nose. "What is this?" she asked, sitting down beside him at the table.

Rem pressed his lips together, as if weighing whether to tell her the truth. "The word means ‘Kljatvoložec.’ One who breaks an oath — in younger tongues, they call him a warlock, or in common speech, a sorcerer, or black magician."

"Is it a human?"

"Yes, it’s a human."

"What oath did he break?"

Rem leaned back in his chair and sighed. "It’s difficult to explain." He paused, drumming his fingers on the table. "Everything humans learned, they learned from the Elders."

It wasn’t a question, but Nita nodded, her eyes urging him to continue.

"Some of the Elders taught humans how to control the elements and the nature around them. A Kljatvoložec is a human who can control demons, and through them, magic."

"What’s a demon?"

"Well, that’s the thing — no one really knows. When one of the Elders dies, their physical body disintegrates, and their soul returns to the element they were bound to, so they can be reborn. Most of us feel our element; it influences us, dictates our behavior. But occasionally, there are those who defy it, acting against their nature. Evil beings, murderers, violators—" Rem trailed off, his thoughts seemingly drifting inward.

Nita felt confused but was too afraid to ask more. The silence stretched on, so she impatiently shuffled her feet. Rem looked at her and frowned.

"Do you think an evil being can be reborn?" he asked. It was more of a rhetorical question.

"I hope not—" she blurted out.

Rem sneered. "So do I, but still… Nevertheless—" he sighed and stretched his legs. "—some believe that’s what a demon is. An evil being, denied the right to be reborn, trapped somewhere beyond space and time."

"And the Elders taught humans how to control them?"

Rem nodded. "I think it must have been by chance. The Elders can’t work with demons. We can control elemental magic, work with energy. We feel the energy of creation — one of our greatest secrets — and that’s what one of the Elders once decided to reveal to humans, on the condition that they wouldn’t meddle with the laws of creation. Naturally, humans broke that oath, and some became Kljatvoložecs. With the power of demons, they gained such great strength that they’re directly subordinate to the human king, and no one else. The first Kljatvoložec supposedly defeated an entire army by himself."

Nita’s face displayed a tumult of emotions, and Rem smirked inwardly. How transparent she is… he thought. Eagerness gave way to hesitation, and finally, she lowered her head in sorrow.

"Someone like me isn’t allowed to learn magic."

"Says who?" he growled.

"I’ve heard it," she shrugged vaguely. "Magic isn’t for girls."

He swatted the back of her head. Startled, she looked at him — he was scowling at her.

"Magic is everywhere and for everyone. Some are just too stupid, or blind, or deaf. Are you blind and deaf?"

She shook her head.

"So you’re just stupid?"

She hesitated, but then shook her head again, more decisively this time. The older she got, the more she realized how much she had learned.

"Willpower is what matters most. Do you want to be like him?" he pointed to the figure in the book.

"Yes," she breathed, before she had time to reconsider. The power beckoned her, and the figure in the book depicted someone — a human, no less — with a power that could be hers.

"Even at the cost of leaving here, going back among humans?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but hesitated. Return to the world of humans? Leave the tranquility of her small world where she felt safe? Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure.

Rem saw her hesitation. He, too, was uncertain whether this was something he wanted. Nita and demons? The girl he had influenced for so long, who had said she didn’t want to be human… now she wanted to be a human Kljatvoložec? Or would it be better if she stayed hidden away in the garden her whole life, like a frightened rabbit? He slammed the book shut with a sharp gesture and stood up from the table. Nita looked at him, her eyes stinging with tears. He was still scowling.

"You can stay here your whole life, hidden from the world like the plants in the garden. Or you can leave. The decision is yours alone."

He walked out of the house. Nita remained seated, her gaze fixed on the closed book, tears rolling down her cheeks.

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