17. Voiceless

"Gob," commanded Great Chief Taruk. "Be quiet. Do that."

Gob stared up at Chief Dot, and she scowled back, her old womanling face scrunched in the usual way.

The goblin wanted to speak, needed to speak, but he could not. It was difficult for any goblin not to listen to their Chief. Though Gob was very good at ignoring them for being so small. But when Taruk spoke his words ruled over all. Gob tried to force his mouth open but there was no use. He needed to find another way to stop the manlings.

Gob ran to tell the shaman, who was busy in the kitchen pouring black powder into a bowl, but the command was so strong that Gob couldn't speak at all. He hoped it wouldn't last too long. Once before, Taruk had told Gob to wait and he had stood still for over two nights.

He scampered down the stairs where Chief Dot had won her duel, then headed towards the trees where he'd seen the manlings. They were carrying string sticks and covered in dried hides.

Sneaking around like they were as small as Gob.

Gob had wanted to warn Chief Dot. Or the others. But now he could not do that. He needed to be Mighty Gob instead.

Gob scampered swiftly across the dirt and grass, soon reaching the trees. His ears twitched as he listened for the manlings, hearing rustling leaves, creaking branches, and then the distinct snap of a twig. The rumble of manling laughter could be heard as well.

Gob crept in that direction. He leapt back on instinct, nearly getting clear, but the hard ropes of a net clipped his legs, flipping Gob upside down. Gob tried to land on his forepaws, but a heavy boot sent him flying through the air.

Struggling for breath, Gob pawed at the earth, trying to escape, but the same net now landed on him in whole. He tried to crawl out from under it but the ropes were tightened and he was lifted up, lurching from side to side.

"Told you," said a manling.

"How can you tell it's the same one?" another manling asked.

"Just can. Trust me. You fought goblins as long as I have, you'd be able to tell 'em apart as well."

Gob wanted to screech out for mercy or help but Taruk's command was unyielding. He tried to scratch through the ropes, biting through others. Gob's world shifted now the manling hurled the him into a tree.

***

Gob woke to confusion. And pain. Which was more confusing. Most bumps and cuts didn't bother the goblin at all. Chief Dot talked about aches and pains a lot. Fear trickled in, and Gob worried he might be very badly hurt.

Gob's eyes were working though. The moon had come out to glow, and a manling fire was burning in the distance.

The stink of other goblins close by reached Gob's nose, and he tried to run on instinct, crashing against the confines of hard metal.

Gob felt a strange feeling. He'd only ever felt it once before when the others had tried to eat him. But Chief Dot had saved him then.

It was like fear but worse. He did not have a name for it.

He had been closed in a metal box, stacked on top and around many others boxes, of different shapes and sizes, where many other goblins had also been trapped.

Gob felt surprised by how silent his kin were. And he wondered if Taruk had told them to be quiet as well.

But then looking more closely Gob saw the cuts and bruises and swollen skin. And the strange emptiness to their eyes. And he wondered if they had been feeling the worse-than-fear longer than Gob.

Gob had heard stories long ago. That the manlings snatched small goblins like him. To sell and trade like furs and bones. But he thought they were just stories. Like manlings cleaning water with fire. Or sticking bristles in their flat teeth.

The scrawny goblin felt around the gaps in the metal of his box, looking for a side that might open like the wooden boxes Chief Dot had.

But the roof was very low and the sides not very wide, and he started to thrash and scratch and panic, scraping and rasping against metal, causing his box to clatter against others.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

This bothered his kin who copied Gob and they all began to make an awful screeching, scrabbling chorus of goblins trapped in boxes.

"Oi!" shouted a manling, followed by a thunderous clanging of metal on metal. He was striking the cages with a heavy club, causing a terrible sound that made the boxes shake. "Be quiet. Next one of you makes a noise is going to end up dead."

Gob had never been the best at listening. And been less best at speaking. But he thought as good as he could. Other goblins were less thinking and hearing and speaking than him. One of them, a big block headed goblin, shouted out in complaint.

The manling went to his box, which did indeed have a side that opened.

Gob closed his eyes, his worse-than-fear growing, now the manling bludgeoned the other goblin to death.

Not seeing, and trying not to listen to the wet crunching sounds, Gob wanted to speak and wanted not to speak all at once.

He hoped Chief Dot would be here soon. She was a womanling and could speak with the manlings. Tell them that Gob should be free.

Or, Gob thought, maybe Chief Taruk could come and kill the manlings instead. Then all the goblins could be free. And all the manlings could be dead. And this satisfied another new feeling that the scrawny goblin felt. The worse-than-rage.

***

Gob eyes opened to a shortlived wave of screeching. He had not slept, he did not think. But then he had not been thinking.

This had happened once before when Great Chief Taruk was only Chief Taruk. And he had come and bitten off Chief Gromb's head.

Chief Gromb had been a Chief of kindness. Gob was happy to listen to his commands even though he could've ignored them.

Gob tried to avenge him, and Taruk could have killed Gob, but instead he had commanded him to stay and stare at headless Gorm.

Many other goblins had come to watch and laugh and poke Gob stuck still as he was, and then Shaman Gorm had said that Gob was cursed and all the other goblins left him alone.

Until the moon shone so bright that Gorm said Gob needed to be sacrificed. Or else Great Chief Taruk and his whole clan would suffer.

Gob did not believe Shaman Gorm. But now, trapped in a box with many other goblins of the clan, he wondered if the Shaman had seered the truth.

Though Gob did not know how his dying or surviving could bring about such badness.

More boxes had been added, stacked above and all around, so all Gob could see were overlapped walls of metal.

But by sound and smell, many of Taruk's clan had been boxed as well. The worse than fear began to grow again, and Gob wished to sleep. Or to stop thinking.

Gob had always feared dying. But being in a metal box, strangely, felt worse.

Gob wondered if Taruk's command still kept him silent, but found he did not even want to speak.

Gob had always wanted to run, and jump and hunt. Now he wanted to lie flat like a dead hopper.

"Not sure what you want to see them for," a manling voice was saying, that Gob almost knew. "But they're over here."

The boxed goblins began to squirm and squeak and rattle the metal.

"Gods above," said a womanling, and her voice Gob did know. "Worse than killing 'em, ain't it?"

"It's good coin," the manling said back, though his words had lost strength. "Better this than be eaten by their own kind. We only take the weaklings. They're surprisingly good for labour, or even hunting. Better than hounds, 'cause hounds can't climb trees. Besides, you're the one who said you wanted to buy one."

"Said I might," Chief Dot answered, her words angry as they ever were, and, Gob thought, ever would be. "Can't see them all."

"They're all the same. You buying one or not? I'm doing you a favour letting you look at all. And keeping it quiet, besides. What's an old woman want a goblin for anyhow?"

"For climbing trees," Chief Dot answered.

The manling laughed. But it was the quiet, strange sort of laugh that meant a manling was not happy but angry or some other feeling instead.

Gob's lips would not move. He had been desperately trying to scream out, or screech, or cry, but he was making no noise at all. He tried to scratch at his bars, to make some other noise, but deep in the boxes as he was, it didn't rise above the unhappy chorus of his kin.

"Well...?" the manling asked. "I ain't got all day, woman."

"If you've got somewhere to be then off ye go."

He laughed again. This laugh was a doubting laugh. "Don't think I'll be leaving you alone here. Take your pick or stop wasting my time."

"Gob...?" Dorothy asked of the boxed goblins. "Gob?" she nearly shouted.

"They ain't going to answer you by name," the manling replied. "Right. Come away, then. Go and enjoy your celebration. If you still want to buy one before we leave then I'll have one picked for you in the morning. You can call him whatever you like."

Dorothy made her usual grumbling sound.

'Help!' Gob tried to scream. 'Pleasing, Chief Dot! Gob here! Gob here! Gob here!' But Taruk's command was so strong that, even with it fading, Gob could only whisper his own name.