The fortress was called Moss Rock and it sailed through the deceptive water of the Drowned Marshes silently and unseen. To anyone who caught a glimpse of it would have seen nothing more than another hill in the mist but inside the walls of the sailing fortress was a castle with armories, blacksmiths, kitchens, and a training guard where the most martial of the goblin tribes, the Bone Flock Tribe, lived.
On the yard the Bone Flock Tribe’s grandmother stared down a young knight pointing a sword at her.
Time had colored the grandmother goblin’s paws and tail grey while her hair was white and thin as a spiderweb, but she had never stopped training. So instead of turning to fat or a bag of bones, she was hard and stout as a tree stump. Under the wrinkled skin her right arm was a clump of muscles from wielding a mace all her life and over the years it had made her right arm far thicker than her left which made her seem lopsided. The only discomfort brought by age that Old Heron would admit to herself was that her chainmail that could protect her from bullets was growing heavy on her.
Not that she would ever let her tribe know it.
So Old Heron endured it. She was well over sixty. She had no illusions that she would live long enough to be crushed under the weight of her own armor. She had lived as a warrior, and she was determined to die like one.
Perhaps the young human warrior would be the one to finally finish her.
The man calling himself Eagleheart was young. So young that most of the bones tied into Old Heron’s hair were older than him but despite his youth, he seemed formidable. He was hard and muscular with short black hair and blue eyes dark as bruises. A badly healed scar split his brow that made him look like he had been mauled by a lion in his youth. When he drew his straight sword, it looked like the sword became an extension of his hand. The boy had obvious talent but more than that… there was a hunger in him. A need for the world to see him. A yearning for acknowledgement.
“Come.” Old Heron said.
The Eagleheart was every bit as fast as his name would have suggested and he came at her like a great bird of prey soaring towards a mouse. Old Heron could see a circle being drawn around him. His killing circle. The space the Eagleheart had complete control over. Anyone who entered it did so at a risk on their life. As a human he was much taller than her and his sword could reach much further than her mace.
But the mace wasn’t the only weapon she wielded.
When the Eagleheart prepared to strike, she just looked at him and when their eyes met Old Heron did not strike him with her mace but her mind. The Eagleheart screamed from pain and dropped his sword when he fell on his knees, almost gutting himself with his own blade by accident. When he reached for his head to see if it was still whole, Old Heron could imagine the illusion his mind had conjured. Her mace suddenly growing longer and splattering his brains all over the ground. Old Heron didn’t let her opponent regain his wits and she walked over to him with the deceptive speed of an avalanche. She raised her mace, the real one this time, and let it fall.
The mace tapped the Eagleheart’s forehead gently as a kiss.
“Match.” Old Heron said.
The Eagleheart stared at her bewildered, still not believing he was alive despite feeling his skull being crushed.
“… what… what did you do?” Eagleheart gasped.
“I cut you with my mind.” Old Heron said and snapped her fingers: “He’s all yours, young ones.”
The Bone Flock Tribe had been watching their friendly sparring match but when she declared the duel over, the little ones rushed the Eagleheart and wrestled him to the ground to claim they had bested a human a warrior.
Meanwhile, Old Heron watched with the other warriors of her tribe.
The duel might have been over, but the test wasn’t. She waited to see what the Eagleheart’s reaction was when a bunch of kids ganged up on him. If he snarled like an angry mutt and tried to take out his stinging pride on them, she would split his skull for real.
But he never did.
Instead, the Eagleheart just laughed and played along with the children’s game, letting himself be wrestled to the ground.
“I know that look. Still have your doubts?”
Old Heron turned to look at her other guest… and if she was honest, a friend. Earl Prospero de Ferro was tall for a human which made him a giant among the goblins. He wore a heavy greatcoat and thick boots to protect himself from the harsh wind and harsher terrain of the Drowned Marshes. Days in the Wyrding had gifted him with a rough beard that made him look like a bandit. A look the rifle and bow he carried complimented. On his belt hung a knife that would have been a short sword in a goblin’s paws.
“He’s a Grimaldi. The Wyrding remembers.” Old Heron said.
Prospero’s teeth flashed between his beard when he smiled.
“Trust me, Heron. Viktor is one of the best.” Prospero said while looking the wrestling match the Eagleheart was having with the little ones: “I must admit… no matter how many times I see it, that mind cutting trick never seizes to impress.”
“I am not your dancing monkey, lord Ferro.” Old Heron said.
Prospero flinched and then bent the knee so they could speak eye to eye.
“I am sorry if I offended you, grandmother. It was not my intent.”
“Bringing a Grimaldi to the Wyrding was insult enough. An attack dog of the Red Swan.”
“I don’t think Viktor should be blamed for his ancestors’ crimes.”
“Yet he still benefits from them.” Old Heron said.
“Yet you haven’t kicked us out.” Prospero said.
“House Ferro has always been a friend of the Wyrding.” Old Heron said and looked at the Eagleheart who was playing with the children: “Perhaps he deserves to atone for his ancestors’ crimes.”
“Now there’s something we can agree on.” Prospero said.
Old Heron could feel the weight of her armor and she beckoned Prospero towards her quarters so she could sit down and have a sigh without her tribe seeing her winded. Even when her tribe sailed on Moss Rock, they tried to make their rooms look like tents and Old Heron’s walls were lined with carpets and her sleeping mattress could be rolled up in the morning. There was a simple stove in the middle of the room and when they entered her study, Old Heron began preparing tea.
“How did Viktor do?” Prospero asked.
“He has skill and potential but…”
“But?”
“I expected more from a human. I heard that the Lionheart killed His Terrible Highness not so long ago.”
“Maybe not mention that to Viktor. He’s been compared to Cassio all his life and… not in a flattering way.” Prospero said.
“Cassio?” Old Heron said: “I see. Have you convinced him to join your cause?”
“No. I have done some prodding and Cassio… well… at the back of his mind he has always believed that the pieces will land just right to make him the king of Garuccia.”
“A Leon on the throne? A terrifying thought.” Old Heron said.
“It’s House Rossi these days.” Prospero said.
“Leon. Rossi. A lion is a lion.” Old Heron said.
When the tea was done, Prospero reached for his rucksack and pulled out a pack of cigarettes that he handed to Old Heron. The smell of tobacco threatened to bring a smile on her face.
“For your hospitality.” Prospero said.
“That is very kind of you.” Old Heron said and had a sip of her tea: “Since you have brought a Grimaldi here, I assume you’re going ahead with your plan.”
“I wanted you to see we have allies in Garuccia and… the queen is on the prowl again. She is sure the time is near.” Prospero said.
“Time for us to decide where we stand?” Old Heron said.
Prospero fell quiet. He stared at his tea before drinking it in one go and then lit a cigarette. His sole cigarette of the day.
“Old Heron, are we friends?”
“You have made a good showing of it.” Old Heron said.
“Then let’s be frank. You can sit this one out if you wish but I would feel better if you joined us.”
“Would you now? I think you only want us so we could convince His Savage Highness to join you.” Old Heron said and smirked: “You could have had him. He came looking for you and you turned him down because you didn’t recognize his worth.”
“If I had known who he was back then but… I didn’t. He was dresses as a clown, but I was the fool.” Prospero said and sucked in smoke: “Do you think he can protect you?”
“He is a Prince of the Wild.” Old Heron said.
“It wasn’t enough to protect him from a vampire. I am sure you have heard the rumors that the fox prince was crippled by a Screaming Beast. The rumors are true. I have seen it.” Prospero said.
Old Heron fell quiet and without even thinking about it, lit one of the cigarettes Prospero had brought for her.
“There was once a boy… Little Sparrow. He loved Little Swan who loved another. He fought a duel for her and lost. To mend his broken heart and ease his shame, I sent him to live with my best friend.”
A tear ran down Old Heron’s face.
“Now… Sparrow is dead… because of the vampire. My best friend too… and you say our prince is crippled… because of the vampire.”
“… yes.” Prospero said.
“I must see it for myself.”
“Fair enough.”
When they stepped out of her room, the little ones had left the Eagleheart alone so he could nurture his headache in peace. When he noticed their conversation was done, he bowed his head to Old Heron.
“Can I help you with something?” Old Heron asked.
“That technique you used on me… can you teach it to me?” The Eagleheart asked.
Old Heron gave the young warrior a long, hard look.
“Maybe.” Old Heron said and then called for her tribe.
The Bone Flock Tribe had been founded by Hard Wasp in defiance of the natural order. Goblins of the Bone Flock Tribe were warriors and they moved as one like a military unit. They stood before Old Heron and waited for her orders. She had to suppress a proud smile. Her tribe was everything she had ever hoped it to be. Strong. Silent. Deadly. But she had dreamt too small. Maybe they could be more.
“My tribe, you will travel without me for a while.” Old Heron said.
The faces in her tribe were filled with worry but they all kept their silence.
“There is a promise I must keep and a truth I must see for myself. While I am gone, master Snipe will lead the tribe.” Old Heron said.
Snipe nodded as a sign of agreement and Old Heron had no doubt, she would not lead the tribe astray. She had been grooming Snipe as her successor since she had tied the tenth bone in her hair. She was unbreakable as a willow in a storm. The wind might bend her but never break her.
“I will keep us safe, grandmother.” Snipe said.
“I know you will.” Old Heron said and then locked her eyes on a young goblin: “Little Crow.”
Little Crow was only a boy of fourteen, but he already had a scar on his cheek and a bone tied to his hair. His hair and the fur in paws and tail were black as the feathers of the bird he had been named after. He was too young to wear chainmail although Snipe had more than once suggested that they made an exception for him. Old Heron had considered it but decided that while Little Crow had the skill to merit it, getting chainmail at such young age would make him arrogant. There was danger in being too good too young.
“Grandmother.” Little Crow said.
“You will go with the earl and act as his guide and liaison.” Old Heron said.
Crow’s eyes widened with surprise while Prospero just nodded in agreement. The other young goblins glared at him with envy while Little Crow’s mother Swan, was a mixed basket of pride and worry.
“I welcome you to my service, Crow.” Prospero said.
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When Crow tried to meet Prospero’s gaze, he turned from a young warrior to the fourteen-year-old boy he still was at heart.
“… I will not let you down, lord earl.” Little Crow said.
All the shyness faded away when Little Crow looked at the Eagleheart and Old Heron was annoyed that she had failed to trim so much arrogance out of him.
“How did you earn an honorary name like the Eagleheart?” Little Crow asked.
Little Crow’s mother stepped forward and put her paw on her son’s shoulder.
“Mind your manners, Crow.” Swan said.
“I don’t mind a bit of honesty.” Prospero said and smiled at his friend: “Viktor is a crack shot with a rifle. He’s even better than the Lionheart.”
“Then maybe he will do my son the honor of teaching him to shoot.” Swan said.
“I am sure Viktor would love to. Wouldn’t you, Viktor?” Prospero said.
“It would be my honor.” The Eagleheart said.
Old Heron watched all this unfold in silence. The one she wanted Little Crow to learn the most from was Prospero. Future belonged to those who could envision it and had the strength to make their vision reality. A quality the goblins needed and changing the world was a duty for the young. Little Crow’s mother stepped forward to hug her son and Little Crow squirmed in her mother’s arms. Embarrassed that he was treated like a child in front of his new lord.
“Take good care of my son, earl.” Swan said.
“I will. I solemnly do swear by the Balefire.” Prospero said.
“Good because I solemnly do swear by the Quiet that if you break your word, I will find you where you sleep and cut your throat.” Swan said.
The Eagleheart’s eyes widened with shock while Prospero simply nodded.
“Fair enough.” Prospero said.
That night they celebrated by roasting a wild boar over a fire and Prospero handed out the candy he had brought with him for the children and gave the adults a sip of brandy. Old Heron only had a dimple and retired into her room early. She tried to calm herself by meditating but when that didn’t work, she slept uneasily.
She left at the crack of dawn while her tribe still slept with only the night watchers seeing her off.
Old Heron had always travelled fastest alone and even in her old age she had missed it. Being a Grandmother was the greatest honor a goblin could have. A shot at immortality. Your teachings could shape future generations and as long as they did, you never truly died.
But…
It also cost you the pleasure of going where there was no Path and leaving a trail. A leader could not run off to have solo adventures when others depended on her wisdom and guidance. Once she had thought she could do both, but old age had snuck on her like a viper in tall grass. At least she still had her teeth and strong legs.
While she walked, she made sure to feed herself.
Winter was almost upon them, and food was getting scarce but Old Heron could still find berries and mushrooms. There was still fish in the streams and if need be, she could hunt larger game. When she cooked her dinner over a fire, she wondered what holy site her tribe would spend their winter at. She wondered how many winters she had left in her. She was sixty-eight. Far too old for a goblin.
Killing intent in the air made her take her mind off dinner.
She looked around and put her hand on her mace. There were so many places for a predator to hide. The long grass. The shadows of the trees. Had she been part of a tribe, predators would have steered clear off her but being easy prey was the price for travelling alone.
“I know you’re there.”
The forest was silent until she heard giggling and the head of a snake stuck out of the grass. The snake’s scales were a faded shade of grey and its body was as thick as her arm but the most unsettling thing about it was the cunning in its pale eyes.
“And I know you’re here.” The snake hissed: “An old goblin all alone on the road.”
The skin-changer snake slithered out of the grass and revealed itself to be even longer than Old Heron if she lied down. Its fangs were thin and sharp as needles and dripping with poison. Fangs like that would easily find cracks in her chainmail and fill her veins full of poison.
“I have no quarrel with you, skin-changer. Leave me be.” Old Heron said.
“But I don’t want to. Not when there is such finely aged meat right there. Just waiting to be gobbled up.” The snake said.
Old Heron did not waste any more time with words and just slashed at the snake with her mind. The skin-changer screeched when he felt his skull getting crushed under her mace.
“Not fair.” The skin-changer moaned while crawling back into the grass: “It’s not fair.”
Old Heron did not stay to see if the skin-changer would try his luck again with the aid of some friends. She doused the fire she had used for cooking and stored the food she had been preparing. She ate it as she walked while keeping one on the grass for the skin-changer.
Had her mentor seen her then, she would have smacked her over the head for not looking where she was going.
There was a sharp pain in her paw when she stepped where she shouldn’t have and for a moment Old Heron feared the skin-changer snake had managed to sneak up on her and bite her foot. When she looked down, she didn’t see a snake biting her leg but a rusty nail that had been sticking out of the road and had now pierced her paw. It hadn’t gone all the way through but that was a poor consolation.
“Damn it.” Old Heron cursed when she pulled the nail out her paw.
She stared at the ancient nail and wondered how it had gotten there. How long had it been sitting there just so it could one day pierce her paw? She growled at the nail before throwing it at the side of the road. How could she have been so careless? Ignoring the road out of fear of a snake.
She sat down on the road and studied her paw.
A cut like that would get infected easily and travelling alone, infection was a death sentence. She could already feel her paw swelling and it wouldn’t be long before it was too tender to handle her weight. Then there was the skin-changer snake that was close by. Watching her.
There was no time to waste and Old Heron acted fast.
While going easy on her injured paw, she searched the woods for bitter herbs not yet killed by the cold. She collected as much of them as she dared before setting up her tent and started boiling water. She cleaned the injury with boiled water before chewing up the bitter leaves in her mouth. Her saliva turned the leaves into a dark green paste that she spread on the injury and hoped it was enough. She could already feel the swelling that would cause a fever. Once she had applied the ointment, she bandaged her paw and meditated.
The fever was already starting to take hold.
Old Heron sat cross-legged in her tent and tried to concentrate on the pain in her paw. She studied it from every angle and then just let it pass her by, but she couldn't stop her mind from wandering… Wise Badger… why did she have to die now that she needed her advice the most? She wiped a tear running down her wrinkled cheek that was mixed with feverish sweat. And in the shadow of her tent, she could see Grandfather Death.
“Is this it?” Old Badger said.
Grandfather Death looked at her under his wide-brimmed hat and she could see his toothy grin.
“Maybe.” Grandfather Death said.
Old Heron let out a chuckle.
“There’s no getting straight answer from you, is there? Except one. You come for everyone in the end.” Old Heron said and rubbed her swelling paw: “Once… I thought I could beat you.”
“Many do.” Grandfather Death said.
There was no mockery in the voice. When Death spoke, his voice was gentle, warm, and more than a little sad.
“… tell me… Sparrow… I raised that boy myself… he could have been the First Spear of our tribe… but in a way you knew him better than I did… you saw how he faced his end… how did he meet you?” Old Heron asked.
“Your lessons served him well. He died saving his apprentice and not giving an inch to those who killed him.” Grandfather Death said.
“Sparrow… was a fool… Little Swan did not love him back… but he could not accept that… he wasted his life chasing something he could not have.” Old Heron said.
“Harsh words, grandmother.” Death said.
“If he had only learned to accept… maybe he would not have died.” Old Heron said.
“Maybe.” Grandfather Death said.
“Maybe he got that from me. Look at me. Why did I leave my tribe? Not to see the truth for myself. I just… wanted to have one more adventure on my own. To prove myself that I could still do it but all I proved is that I am too old.” Old Heron said while she felt her eyelids grow heavy: “Either the infection does me in… or that young snake slithers into my tent and strangles me while I am too weak to fight.”
“We will see.” Grandfather Death said.
“I suppose we will.” Old Heron said.
Sleep was too powerful of an enemy to resist forever and before long Old Heron nodded off despite danger surrounding her on all sides. At least sleep was a gentle opponent.
For a moment she thought she had died and arrived at the Green Lands.
She was young again. Young, fast, strong, and fearsomely beautiful. Her hair was thick and black as tar and the bones tied into her hair clanked together as she walked. She strode with the certainty of a warrior who had already proved themselves and that had made them arrogant. Her chainmail was new, but her mace had already been dented on the cracked skulls of her enemies.
When Old Heron realized that she couldn’t move and only watch as her younger self pushed forward, she knew this was a dream.
The young Heron followed a trail and Old Heron followed her younger self. She already knew what they would find at the end of this road, and it filled her with a terrible longing. They followed the trail until they found what they had been looking for.
A goblin’s tent.
It had been barely hidden which would have been a death sentence if a predator had happened upon it but what was even more shocking was that the tent had not been taken down even though it was past midday.
And the tenants inside were too busy copulating to care.
Old Heron sighed while her younger self growled and slammed her mace to the ground.
“Out!”
The breeding inside came to a sudden and disappointing end and the flaps of the tent were pushed aside. A female goblin stuck her head out to see what all the commotion was about. She had auburn hair and large brown eyes. Behind her young Heron caught a glimpse of her mate. A young goblin from the same tribe as her with bones in his hair… and the bluest eyes she had ever seen.
“Can we help you?” The female goblin asked: “We are in the middle of something.”
In response young Heron bared her teeth.
“Are you Little Badger?”
“It’s Wise Badger these days. I haven’t been called Little in years.” Badger said and gave her an amused look: “Aren’t I older than you?”
The male goblin behind her put a paw on her naked shoulder.
“Don’t encourage her, love.” The male goblin said and then glared at her with his piercing blue eyes: “Who are you to demand her name without first offering yours?”
Badger smiled gently while she patted her mate’s paw.
“Be nice, my prince.”
The male goblin growled like some large animal who had been tamed by Badger.
“Fine. I am Savage Shrike. What is your name?”
“I am Strong Heron.” Young Heron said and pointed her mace at Badger: “Are you the goblin who put out a call to arms against Zagan the Bloody?”
“I am.” Badger said and stepped out of her tent despite being nude: “Did you come to answer my call?”
Old Heron could only sigh at how callous she had once been while her younger self narrowed her eyes.
“I am here to tell you to stop. Leave Zagan be. He leaves goblins alone. Do not provoke him.”
“Now that I cannot do. People are suffering and the monster must be stopped.” Badger said.
Old Heron could have slapped herself across time when her younger self spat at Wise Badger’s feet. Behind Wise Badger, her prince had begun to growl again, and his eyes were almost shining.
“If you don’t see reason, I will force you to understand.” Young Heron said.
Savage Shrike was ready to step forward and rip her to shreds, but Wise Badger stopped him by blocking his path with her paw.
“If that is what it takes, so be it. Whenever you’re ready.” Wise Badger said.
Young Heron gripped her mace with two hands.
“Pick up your weapon.”
Wise Badger looked at her spear that had been stuck into the ground and then just shook her head.
“I do not need it.”
“Are you mocking me?” Young Heron said behind clenched teeth: “Weren’t you supposed to be wise?”
Wise Badger spread her hands.
“I have all the weapons I need.”
Young Heron attacked without another word. She could see herself crossing the distance between herself and Badger in the blink of an eye and stopping her mace inches from her skull. That should have scared the fight out of anyone.
She never managed to take even one step.
It was madness but she could have sworn that a ghostly form of Wise Badger lunged instantaneously at her and pierced her entrails with a spear that was not there. Even if the spear was not real, the pain was. Terrible enough to bring her to her knees and drop her mace. She gasped but when she tried to stop her guts from falling out from her open belly, she realized there was no wound.
“Are you alright?!”
Wise Badger was standing over her looking worried and young Heron’s wounded pride was enough to quench the pain. She forced herself back on her feet.
“Don’t look down on me!”
Wise Badger took a step back with a worried look on her face.
“You could die.”
“I’m not afraid of death!” Young Heron lied.
Savage Shrike’s patience had been pushed too far and he stepped between the two female goblins.
“Then you will fight me.” Savage Shrike said.
“Draw your weapon.” Young Heron growled.
“As you wish.” Savage Shrike said.
Seeing a skin-changer cast aside their mask and take on their true form was something you never really forgot. It was like seeing reality turn into a cracked mirror and see something different in every shard. A goblin warrior in one. A great, black fox in another. Only the blue eyes remained the same. Then the mirror became whole again and only the beast remained.
Only the truth remained.
Old Heron shook her head disappointed when she saw her younger self be revealed for a liar. The skin-changer prince’s fangs and claws slashed through the fantasy that she had told herself. That she was a fearless warrior. That death did not scare her. Before His Savage Highness she was just a scared child who had never held a weapon and the fear knocked her senseless.
“Are you okay?”
When young Heron returned to her senses, she found herself in Wise Badger’s tent where Badger and her skin-changer lover were sharing their body heat to keep her warm.
“Did we go too hard on you?” Wise Badger asked.
She had lost and there was nothing left. No anger. No wounded pride. She was hollow.
“That trick…” Young Heron moaned.
“Yes?”
“… can you teach it to me?” Old Heron said.
Wise Badger and Savage Shrike shared a look and then Badger flashed a grin that had charmed a god.
“Maybe.”
Old Heron woke up in her tent with a jolt. Her paw was thumping with pain, and he could feel the bandages strain against the swelling. In the darkness of her tent, Grandfather Death was sleeping.
But she wasn’t alone with just Grandfather Death.
“Poor, lonely, old goblin. Without a friend in the world.”
The hissing voice came from the dark just outside her tent. The entrance to her tent was pulled open and a dirty, little boy with the eyes of a snake looked inside. When he licked his lips, a forked tongue slipped out his mouth.
“Dying all alone with just Grandfather Death for company.” The skin-changer said and stepped into her tent: “And me. I am here for you.”
Old Heron lied back and stared at the ceiling of her tent.
“I would have preferred to die alone.” Old Heron said.
“Death comes in many forms.” The skin-changer said and lied next to her like they were lovers: “But I am gentle death. Even though you hurt me like that I don’t hold it against you. Once I eat you, I will know how you did it and then I will know how to do it too. Cut others with my mind.”
“A terrifying thought.” Old Heron said.
“I will be a terror.” The skin-changer said.
“Then… if you will take my secrets… do me one favor.” Old Heron said.
“Anything.” The skin-changer said and licked her cheek.
“End me… in your true form.” Old Heron said.
The skin-changer let out a chuckle.
“As you wish.”
The skin-changer shed off his human skin and crawled out of it. The human skin was dropped on the floor like an old coat and the skin-changer snake stretched his long body.
“It will be over soon. My poison works fast.”
“Thank you…” Old Heron said.
“You are welcome.”
“… for not looking like a child anymore.”
Old Heron had no doubt that the skin-changer snake was faster than her, but she didn’t need to be faster. She just had to move while the skin-changer was still merely planning to move. She drew her knife and drove it into the skin-changer’s eye and then into his brain. Had the skin-changer worn the face of a child, she doubted she would have been able to act with such determination. The skin-changer fell on the floor of her tent and his body spasmed when the dying brain sent out last panicked commands to the muscles.
And in the corner Grandfather Death stirred.
“There you are.” Grandfather Death said and opened a sack that could fit the world where he caught the final breath of the skin-changer.
Old Heron fell back on her sweat soaked blanket and drifted off.
When she woke up in the morning, the skin-changer’s cold body was still lying next to her and the swelling in her paw had gone down. More than enough for it to handle her weight. She applied more ointment to the wound and changed her bandages before dragging the skin-changer’s body out and gave her enemy a burial. She dug him a grave and covered it with rocks. Hard work for a woman her age but her pride would not allow her to give up.
“Blessing of the Quiet upon your final journey.” Old Heron said while standing over the skin-changer’s grave.
Then she caried on.
The next few days went by without notice and every morning she woke up feeling a bit stronger until she no longer needed to change bandages and apply more ointment to the cut in her paw.
On the evening of the fifth day, snow began to fall.
When she set her tent for the night, Old Heron was worried that the snow fall would turn into a blizzard, but the snow remained gentle. When she woke up the next morning, the ground had been painted white, but it all melted away in the evening sun only to be covered with snow again by evening. Once Little Crow had asked her why the Great Grandparent would allow winter to exist. Why did the world have to be taken over by the cold and dark? Why couldn’t summer be forever? Why was the Queen of Cold and Dark be allowed to reign?
In response she had told him a story of lands ruled by eternal summer.
Lands were the scorching sun burned away all water, turning the earth dried and cracked. A land where nothing grew and only rattlesnakes would call it home. Too many saw the world they lived in as a battle between good and evil. An eternal struggle between the Great Grandparent and the Queen of Cold and Dark.
The Queen never received her due.
The Great Grandparent had breathed life into an empty universe, but the universe had to be there for them to be able to do that. The play of life took place on a stage that belonged to the Queen. Just because you didn’t understand something didn’t make it evil and too often the worst atrocities were done out of ignorance rather than malice.
Could anyone who knew the difference between right and wrong be able to choose wrong?
The snow would not melt away when she arrived where she needed to be. The spout was marked by a curious carriage that had been left to rust in the snow. It was made of metal and was too heavy for any horse to pull. A strange wheel had been installed to the front and the backseat was stained with dried blood. What matter of vehicle was this?
“Nuncio called it a car.”
Old Badger reached for her mace by instinct when she turned to see who had snuck up behind her and saw a young goblin warrior draped in white. Her cloak made her fade in with the snow and only a few strands of orange hair gave her away. She was leaning on her spear like it was a walking stick and when the young goblin saw her reaching for her mace, she raised her hand.
“I solemnly do swear by the Quiet that I mean you no harm.” The young goblin said.
Old Heron blinked and then smiled.
“No need to coddle me like that. Blessing of the Quiet upon you. I am Old Heron.”
The way the young goblin’s eyes widened, told Old Heron that she knew her. Or at least knew of her. The young goblin bowed her head out of respect.
“I am Daring Ant. Blessing of the Quiet upon you, honored grandmother. You can call me Dare.”
Old Heron walked over to her, and they touched paws. She had a firm, calloused grip befitting a warrior.
“Where is your tribe, Dare?” Old Heron asked.
“They are wintering with the bees.” Dare said.
“Shouldn’t you be with them?” Old Heron asked.
“I could say the same to you.” Dare said with a smile.
There was a hint of cockiness to Dare’s smile that Old Heron suspected had pushed her to excel.
“I came to pay my respects to an old friend.” Old Heron said.
“Then we’re here for the same reason.” Dare said.
Old Heron nodded and looked at the carriage again that Dare had called a car.
“Whose blood is on the backseat?”
A grey shadow fell over Dare’s face.
“The fox prince’s. The Screaming Beast Pietro Capello maimed him.” Dare said.
Her face did not show it, but Old Heron’s heart sunk.
“So… its true. He has been crippled.” Old Heron said: “I did not want to believe it.”
Dare simply nodded.
“I’ll show you where she is resting.” Dare said.
Dare led her through a spot that had once been a goblin campsite. All the evidence of the Hillside Tribe ever having been there was now buried in snow, but one mark remained. A grave site covered in stones. It was covered in wilted flowers and talismans carved from wood to usher the dead to the Green Lands. Old Heron felt a stinging in her eyes and a drop of salt froze on her cheek when she put her paw on the stones.
“Blessing of the Quiet upon your final journey, Wise Badger.” Old Heron said.
“Blessing of the Quiet upon your final journey, grandmother.” Dare said.
They stood in silence out of respect for those who had passed through the black gate. Old Heron had hoped that saying goodbye to Badger would have given her some closure, but she only felt… hollow. Lost. Badger was gone and her prince was a cripple. The two heroes who had been destined to guide her people were lost.
“They talked about you often.” Dare said: “Grandmother and Sparrow.”
Mentioning Sparrow just added to the ache in her heart.
“You knew them well?” Old Heron asked.
“Sparrow was our First Spear. He taught me to fight and Old Badger… I was with her on her final days. She taught me everything else but… I feel like there was so much left to learn from her.”
“There always is.” Old Heron said: “What did they say about me?”
“Old Badger missed you. She always called you her best friend and Sparrow… He was bitter about leaving his tribe, but he always spoke highly of you.” Dare said.
When Old Heron looked at Dare, she could see it. A child that had been molded by Badger’s and Sparrow’s teachings. Which meant that a small part of them lived still lived on in her.
“What about the fox prince? Does he still wear the skin of a goblin?”
“No. He know resides in a human called Salvatore Torrini.” Dare said.
“Are goblins not good enough for him anymore?” Old Heron wondered and chuckled to herself: “Not that it matters.”
Dare looked at the grave and then at her.
“Will you travel with me, grandmother? I am sure that the rest of the Hillside Tribe would be happy to see you.”
“Who is the tribe’s new grandmother?"
“Master Bee.”
“Of course. Badger always saw promise in her.” Old Heron said and looked at her grey paw: “I would love to Dare but I have no time to waste. My days are numbered, and I must make most of them.”
“What do you mean?”
In response Old Heron kissed Dare’s forehead.
“Blessing of the Quiet upon your journey, Daring Ant. Look after yourself. You are Badger’s and Sparrow’s heritage. I will not let you be snuffed out.”
***
Although Prospero would never have said it out loud, he thought Arrowhead Manor was the best home a man could ask for. Even more beautiful than the Red Palace that had always felt like a prison. If the All-Seeing and All-Hearing King could have deciphered his thoughts, Prospero had no doubt that some punishment would have been devised for him. For pretending to have something a king didn’t.
“I’ll never understand why people want to live in the same place.” Little Crow said while he was learning to dismantle and put back together the small rifle Prospero had prepared for him.
“People need the constant of a home in their lives.” Prospero said while looking out the window of his study.
“It makes you easy prey.” Little Crow said.
“The strong need not fear sleeping in the same place every night.” Prospero said.
Little Crow looked at the gun he was learning to master.
“And this is what made you strong?”
“No. It was having a mind that could create something like that made us strong.” Prospero said and ran his finger over the frost covered window: “And what a mess that made.”
Little Crow was about to answer when he fell silent and looked around. Prospero had learned enough from the Bone Flock Tribe to be able to take in his surrounding like goblins if he tried and now, he could feel a change in the air. The kind when someone snuck in through the window. Little Crow put his rifle quickly back together and fed it a bullet while Prospero took out a revolver from his drawer. They lived in dangerous times when even lords hiding behind guards didn’t feel safe.
“Earl.”
Prospero smiled and put down his gun when he heard the familiar voice.
“Come on in, Old Heron.”
Old Heron opened the door to his study and Little Crow grinned when he saw his Grandmother.
“Good evening, Old Heron. Can I help you with anything?”
“We will join your plan.”