It had, indeed, been a long day. Though it had also been better than she’d feared. With the proper(ish) night’s rest the goblins had organized and spoken among themselves, sharing the wisdom their grandmothers had given during the event they’d come to call “The Counciling”. Many of the younger, fitter goblins split off and roamed ahead and behind the column, not only gathering edibles and medicinals, but also setting small snares, hunting, and keeping wary eyes for pursuite, bandits, and other hazards such as monsters (not that the latter was likely this close to an established city).

Those among them who knew any craft had spent the first part of the morning finding straight branches and sticks from which to whittle walking aids and makeshift spears. Poultices and tinctures were applied to aching feet, the magic inherent in the ingredients and the [Skills] used to prepare them helping them heal far more swiftly than normal. Many of the goblins already had thickly calloused feet, but there was a large difference between casually walking day to day and walking all day every day; especially since almost none of them had footwear to speak of.

The biggest surprise that day had come when El, En, and Oict announced that they’d been blessed by The Goddess Grandmother herself, and granted classes. The class was simply called [Grandchild], and seemed to be some kind of priestly profession. No one was sure what skills it might grant, as no one had ever seen it before, but Sigrid suspected she could craft skills directly for it from divinity if she had to. For now she’d let them see if they couldn’t figure some out on their own; divinity was too precious to waste at this moment.

So the goblins had moved on, walking steadily through the day, pausing only for a, very, brief midday meal, and a sad excuse for a supper, before they laid down to sleep after hashing out a proper watch rotation.

For herself, Sigrid found a nice tree to lean against and closed her eyes; it was time to do something she’d been dreading.

“[Council of My Grandmothers],” she intoned softly, and felt a small portion of [Divinity], no more than five points, leave her. Then she opened her eyes on a completely different world.

She stood in a grand and ornate hallway, lined with alcoves that stretched on as far as the eye could see, vanishing into a gray mist in the near-infinite distance. The vaulted ceiling and walls were made of a black, silver-streaked stone, and the floor of gold tile, giving the room a classical if slightly gaudy feel. In each of the alcoves she could see a woman, watching, weighing, and judging her.

Turning her head, she found the nearest contained an old, but familiar face with a sad, exasperated, yet affectionate expression.

“You silly girl,” Milly Hall said to her granddaughter. “What in all the heavens have you gotten yourself into?”

Sigrid sucked in a breath even as her eyes burned and her chest clenched. She took a step forward, and another; then, as the other woman opened her arms she moved fully forward into an embrace.

They stood there for a moment, hot tears trickling down both their cheeks, then Milly pushed her granddaughter away. “I warned you,” she said with a stern sniffle.

“You did,” Sigrid agreed, wiping tears out of her eyes. “I said a stupid thing.”

“So I hear,” the other, even older woman replied, she then stared at her granddaughter for a moment, ineffable sorrow on her face. “I wish I could take this from you-” she began, only to be cut off with a shake of Sigrid’s head.

“Don’t,” the younger grandmother spoke. “I did not want this, or choose this, but now that I have it I wouldn’t change it. These people… they need me. There’s a young girl walking free because of what I said, what I did. You taught me we don’t dabble, but you also taught me to love, and if I must choose one of those things I will choose love every time.”

Milly looked into her granddaughters eyes for a long heartbeat and then, seeing the sincerity there, nodded. “Good, then I taught you well. But this isn’t why you’re here, and your time in this realm is only as long as the night, so we must be swift. Tell me what you need.”

“A way to feed almost a thousand people while they walk two hundred miles,” Sigrid said in despair.

Her grandmother nodded. “Very well… there are women here who could teach you magics to feed an army, but that would take time we do not have, so you’ll have to go deeper; so far into our past that it’s more myth and legend than truth.”

Sigrid licked dry lips. “You told me magic has a price. Do you know…”

“No, but the cost will be high. A magic you can learn in a night but can change the fate of hundreds? It might even be more than you can bear. I guess the question is: What would you do for your grandchildren, Sigrid?” Milly asked.

Sigrid stared into blue irises so like her own, then slowly closed her eyes. “Anything,” she whispered.

“Then I think the cost hardly matters, does it?” her grandmother asked. “Don’t walk Sigrid, run, you’re not a mortal anymore, so stop thinking like one.” The older woman pointed down the hall toward the gray haze in the far distance.

Sigrid turned, putting one foot in front of the other, her stride lengthening quickly as she started first into a gentle jog, and then a full sprint. And as she ran down the rows of alcoves, each holding a Grandmother Hall, she heard from behind her. “Don’t dabble in the supernatural girl, jump in feet first and show them what it means to be a Hall!”

—

Sigrid ran, the alcoves rushing past as the women contained within urged her to greater haste.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Time wastes Sigrid of Clan Hall!”

“Faster girl! Do you want your people to starve?!”

“Is this the state of the latest generation? Disgraceful!”

Onward she ran, her legs and arms pumping, pushing against the ground and air, even it seemed the very world around her as she pushed through the layers of Halls like the strata of an ancient stone outcropping, going ever deeper, looking for the core.

Was it minutes or hours later that she found herself in the fog? She wasn’t sure, time had lost meaning in her haste, all she knew was that the calls had grown few and distant and visibility was practically zero. So bad was it that she could barely make out the stark walls to either side of her; no alcoves of ancestors here, just stone walls to keep her company. Still, she pressed on. Finally she broke through, from fog into a grand chamber, so tall and wide that it beggared the imagination.

Once this room must have been grand, and regal, with columns the size of buildings holding up its black marble roof, though many of those were now shattered; their pieces scattered across the golden floor. Tapestries the size of billboards adorned the walls, their depictions of strange and wonderful worlds ruined by the rents, tears, and slashes that had been their undoing. At the far end there was a throne sized for giants, carved of blood red stone, its majestic back broken and arms crumbled. And there, among the rubble and remains of this room, were three women.

They were tall, and stately, with hair fair as flax, eyes an electric blue. The trio dressed identically in simple tunics and skirts of black, with gray shawls wrapped around their shoulders and overtop their head. They sat upon unadorned stools arranged in a circle, each with a simple drop spindle which engaged their hands in the spinning of thread.

Sigrid knew these women. Who wouldn’t? The maidens of the-.

“No,” said the first. “We are not they.”

“Or maybe we are, it’s been so long,” suggested the second.

“Does it really matter?” interjected the third. “We are here, and so is she.”

Sigrid’s eyes suddenly went wide as she looked about once more. “The room at the center of creation-”

“Where the Halls dictated their will to the titans of old,” the three incongruously young women finished for her in unison.

“So what makes you think you have the right to walk here?” the first asked.

“The right to the magics you so long eschewed?” the second inquired.

“Who are you to be given what we have denied others?” the third questioned.

Sigrid stared at them, momentarily at a loss. Then she drew herself up to her full height and spoke. “I am Sigrid of Clan Hall, Grandmother Goddess. I have the rights of every Hall, to our legacy, to our power. I walk where my grandmothers walked before me, for they have shown me the path. I ask for the gifts they may give me, not in the service of myself but in the aid of others.”

“A nice little speech,” the first noted.

“A bit on the short side,” the second disparaged.

“A tad trite,” the third proclaimed.

Sigrid did not worry at her lower lip, she would not show weakness here. There were lives depending on the outcome of this meeting. She would not yield, she would not back down, she would not bend, or break.

“Ah, there it is,” cooed the first.

“The fire at the core,” murmured the second.

“The soul of a Hall,” declared the third.

“She has made the journey,” said the first.

“She has found the hall,” replied the second.

“She has shown the will,” finished the third.

They fell silent, their eyes on Sigrid for a moment, then they nodded as one.

“A single gift of power,” the first intoned.

“Chosen now and taught within the hour,” the second followed.

“Choose wisely Sigrid of Clan Hall,” spoke the third.

Sigrid did not need to think, she did not need to debate, nor to decide or dissemble. There was but one skill these women had that was prized above all others.

“Teach me to spin.” she replied.

Three pairs of hands fell still, three pairs of eyes bored into her own, three women smiled in predatory fashion.

“A spinner?” The first inquired.

“It has been a while,” the second noted.

“Can she handle it?” the third wondered.

Four pairs of hands took up their spindles, three began an experienced dance, and the fourth started a pale and clumsy imitation.

“The wool does not burn her skin,” noted the first.

“The thread does not cut her flesh,” stated the second.

“Clumsy hands, but they will be deft in time.” declared the third.

They continued to spin, wool becoming yarn, yarn becoming thread, feeding into the great tapestry.

“It does not blend seamlessly,” complained the first.

“There are still lumps,” pointed out the second.

“She is but a child,” the third admonished them.

Sigrid listened with only half an ear, focusing on the task at hand. It was surprisingly hard to spin thread with such primitive means, one mistake and the entire thing came undone! Further, her strands were lumpy and textured, far from the smooth perfection of the three women. However, as the hour passed the threads smoothed out, her hands became deft, and her skill improved under the magics of her teachers.

“She will never be a master,” declared the first.

“But she gets a passing grade,” the second supplied.

“All that’s left is the price to be paid,” came the words of the third.

Sigrid paused in her work, hands falling still. She’d all but forgotten there’d be a price; and she’d asked for the most powerful thing they could give.

“Sigrid of Clan Hall.”

“Grandmother Goddess.”

“Grandmother of Goblins.”

Each spoke in turn, as each head turned to look at her.

“The price of spinning is eschewing the other, mortal powers,” the three spoke as one. “You may never learn the lesser magics. No sorcery will flow through your veins. No wizardry will be yours to command. The powers of nature will defy you. You will be deaf to the magics of music. No potion will you brew, nor artifice you craft. These things are forever barred to you.”

Sigrid licked her lips. “And… my [Divinity]?”

The first tsked.

“She does not listen well,” said the second.

“Divinity is not a mortal magic,” the third replied in kindly tones.

Sigrid sighed in relief and nodded.

“You have found the Hall,” the first proclaimed.

“You have claimed your prize,” the second declared.

“Now Sigrid, open your eyes,” the third intoned.