Thirty-One – The Ritual
A few of the braver goblins pressed forward, threatening to stab us.
“Look!” Slade yelled. “My own people are hurt. Not fighting goblins, but those who betrayed us. I, too, bleed, not to take your life but to save it from traitors.”
Malworth held up a hand, and the goblins stopped in their tracks.
“It is true,” Malworth snarled. “You fought your own kind. But to what ends?”
Before Slade could say anything, I spoke up, “Your majesty, we have the same foe. If the glitches consume your land, it is only a matter of time before they devour ours as well. Join us. Together, we can defeat them, and you will take your lands back.”
Slade nodded at me, happy to be off the hook I imagined. Drinking beers and making merry was more his style. I doubted he was all that interested in subtle negotiations.
Malworth face twisted as he considered this. A goblin in tattered robes, its face wrinkled with many years, approached Malworth. “Words may lie, King Malworth, and humans certainly do, but their spirits cannot. Perhaps we should peer beyond the veil to see what these are made of?”
Slade shot me a questioning look. I could only shrug. I didn’t know what Malworth was going on about. But if history classes taught me anything, there was a long line of people forcing others from their land.
“Also true,” Malworth said. “Humans have deceived us before. You have a long history of taking what is ours. And now you offer us land… land that was once our own. Yet assassins try to take my life. They cut and harry me like angry ants. Let my shaman look into your souls. Prove to him that your words are true.”
When Slade looked at me, I shrugged again. Would this help or hinder? I had no idea. Slade wasn’t king. We couldn’t really promise the goblins land since we were strangers here. Would looking into our souls reveal that as well? If nothing else, we were willing to help however we could, but I could see quite a bit of trouble in the politics department when we arrived at Springfield with a goblin army. None of which I could say in front of Malworth.
“We’ll do it,” Slade announced. “Look into my soul. You’ll find nothing but sincerity.”
Will they? I thought. Slade lied about being king. Lied about being able to grant lands. I admired his ability to believe whatever bullshit he was spinning at the moment, but if the goblins had some sort of lie detector spell, we were cooked.
“Very well,” Malworth said, “Grizzarth, prepare the ceremony at once.”
The elderly goblin bowed and scurried off. The other goblins seemed to relax. Their spears were no longer pointed at us, which was a big improvement.
Emma chanted and lifted her hands over her head, and there was a whoosh. Points of light floated from the ground, and the pain in my throbbing skull vanished. Max stopped clutching at his stomach and sat up. Malworth looked down at his body. The many cuts he had received just minutes earlier were completely gone.
“Your sorceress can heal as well as harm?” Malworth asked Slade.
“She’s actually a priestess,” Slade replied.
“A priestess? To which gods does she pray?”
Slade stammered a moment and looked at Emma. She replied, “I worship the burning flame of knowledge, the truth that consumes the world.”
Whattaizzit? I thought. When did she pick a deity? And why didn’t she tell any of us? And what obligations did that mean she was tangled up in? I realized I hadn’t spent a lot of time with Emma since Springfield. Whether that was intentional, or I was unintentionally avoiding her because she was giving off weird vibes, I couldn’t say. One thing was clear: I needed to spend more time talking to her.
“This is good. We, too, revere the sacred flames and the fires of chaos that cleanse the world.” Malworth said. “Come, my shaman prepares the vision ceremony now. Once ready, we shall see that your words are true.”
He led us to a nearby tent. Like his, this was larger and more elaborate than the ones around it. A pair of totems towered fifteen feet up at the entrance. There were twice as many goblin guards now. They watched us through slitted eyes as we entered.
Inside the shaman tent was a massive open-top brazier in the center. Flames danced inside, flickering with hints of odd colors like green and purple. The old goblin stood off to one side of the brazier. When he saw us, he tossed in a handful of what looked like ash. The fire erupted in brilliant blues and greens.
Great, I thought, a fire. I gave a sidelong glance to Emma, wondering if she’d hear voices in it too.
The shaman gestured to a spot in front of the brazier, “Kneel here. We will begin soon.”
“What exactly does this ceremony entail?” I asked.
Stolen story; please report.
The shaman eyed me suspiciously, “You question our methods?”
“No, I just want to know what's going to happen here.”
“My father’s father’s fathers handed down this tradition. It lays bare the soul for one trained to sense it. With this, I will be able to determine if your words match your intentions. Do you hesitate for fear that your words ring false?”
“No, no,” I said. “I just want to know what’s involved. What do we have to do?”
Grizzarth looked up suspiciously at the humans. “A simple thing. Kneel before our sacred fires, stare into them, and inhale the vapors. These will show your true essence.”
“About that,” I said. “These vapors… Are there any side effects? Hallucinations? Visions? That sort of thing?”
“Few have visions,” Grizzarth said. “My whole life, I’ve trained in the ways of my ancestors to see
Max and I exchanged glances. I don’t know what he was thinking, but I wasn’t keen on the idea of inhaling hallucinogenic vapors. Yeah, yeah, call me square, but totally not my scene.
“Choomba!” Slade announced and fell to his knees in front of the brazier. “Bring on the sacred smokage.”
Emma was quick to follow suit, taking a spot on his right. Knowing that Grizzarth was watching, I forced myself to kneel on the other side of Slade. I was really hoping there wouldn’t be some sort of mind-altering experience. Max was the last one kneeling to my left, sandwiching me between him and Slade.
Satisfied that we were all kneeling willingly, Grizzarth paced in front of us, chanting something that I didn’t understand even in Goblinese. I kicked myself for not kneeling next to Emma. I could have asked her to cast a healing spell on us if we started getting high.
The chanting went on for a bit longer and I snuck peeks around the tent to see what else was going on. Honestly, it sounded like I just needed to breathe some fumes, not concentrate on whatever weird ceremony was going on.
The tent was large, way bigger than any hiking gear I’d ever seen. It was about fifteen feet across with a dirt floor. Around the Brazier were four stout poles lifting the center of the circular tent, maybe twenty feet up. The tip was missing so that smoke from the fire didn’t get trapped and choke us all to death. Besides that, there was a cluster of sleeping rolls on the far side and the entry flaps behind us. There were six other goblins in the tent with us, all clustered at the entry and all well-armed.
Grizzarth worked himself into a tizzy. His voice got louder until he was yelling and shaking his fists at the sky. A rather interesting relationship with his god, I thought. Finally, he screamed, and the talking bit was over. All four of us stared and wondered what to do next.
The shaman reached into a pouch, clutching a fistful of something, and tossed it into the flames. There was a sizzling noise and an explosion of billowing clouds.
I was so surprised at the sudden fumes cloaking us in the darkness that I gasped, sucking in a full lungful of whatever it was. My head swam. I don’t know how else to describe it. I’d never done much more than drink a little. It was like I was floating without a body, as if I’d become a part of the cloud mixing with the atmosphere of the crowded tent.
A racking cough brought me back down to the world. My lungs burned, struggling to get air in them but coughing it out hotly with every breath. I’d once tried smoking a cigarette with a friend when we were thirteen. I remember how it felt like part of my lungs had caught fire, the sharp stabbing in my chest, and the ragged, raw throat it left me with. This was all of that and more.
When my vision cleared, the tent was filled with a whiteish haze. The flames were now consumed with all manner of odd colors, not just the reds and yellows I usually associate with open fire but also blues, greens, and purples. We all knelt and spent the next couple of minutes hacking our lungs out while Gizzarth watched.
After a painful bout of coughing, I dropped my hands away from my mouth to draw in another agonizing breath. I stared. My hands had a purplish outline glowing fiercely in the haze. It took my mind off trying to breathe for a moment, my body flying on autopilot and squeaking in a few ragged breaths.
My whole body was covered in a purple glow radiating out in sharp little dancing spikes. There were occasional streaks of white or silver mixed in. I was looking at an aura, which made me giggle. I’d always thought auras were crap.
Grizzarth slammed a gnarled staff down on the ground. I marveled at the thing. It was damn near twice as tall as he was and almost as twisted.
He stepped up to the left end of our kneeling line to Max. I wanted to snicker. Grizzaerth was just barely taller than the kneeling Max. He passed the staff back and forth in front of Max, then bonked him on the head with it. The shaman squinted and stared at Max as if looking for something past him.
“Royal blue,” Grizzarth announced.
Max radiated a deep blue aura that danced and shifted around him like the northern lights. I stared, mouth agape, as I was still struggling to draw breath. Max looked in awe up at the goblin shaman and tried to suppress a laugh that evolved into a full hacking fit. He stole a wide-eyed glance at me, gawking for a long moment before realizing I was looking at him. The crimson of his blushing contrasted sharply with the blues of the aura.
“I see the patterns of life. This one knows his destiny and seeks to control it. The world is his master. No knowledge will remain hidden for long.” Grizzarth finished.
Max seemed to have passed their test. Grizzarth stepped to me. I looked at him and saw a halo of muted red. I had no idea what the color meant, but it seemed ominous and dangerous. I was so taken by how less vibrant his aura was that the bonk to my head made me yelp.
Grizzarth leaned in, glaring me in the eyes. “Purple. A sad color. So common. You don’t know yourself and seek recognition in the voice of others. Find your path lost one.”
Mortified is the only word I could use to describe how I felt at that moment. Maybe livid would work, too. Who was this old green runt to tell me that I was common? As I sputtered and fumed, he stepped away from me to the next in line.
Even kneeling, Slade looked straight into Grizzarth's eyes. I could see Slade bathed in a golden light, like a literal full-on stained-glass church type of halo.
After the bonking, Grizzarth said, “Golden. The color of royalty. A king among kings. This is one destined for greatness. Your strength knows no bounds.”
“Fuck yeah!” Slade uttered in his unerring eloquence. He turned to me with a smile bigger than the cosmetic counter at DeVallee’s boutique, “You hear that? A king of kings.”
The urge to jump up and strangle him had to be suppressed like no other before it. As Slade laughed at my obvious confusion, Grizzarth stepped once more to the right, to Emma.
She peered up at him with frightened eyes behind the haze of the burning flames. There was no change in her expression when he bonked her head with his staff. He leaned in, peering, then reeled back.
“Villian!” Grizzarth shouted, pointing at Emma.
It was then that I noticed it wasn’t the haze masking her; it was her aura.
Shadowy folds of the pitchest of black danced around her in an undulating outline.