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How to Survive as a Human in Saint Goblin's Inn
Chapter 6 - The Ghosts of Gothsin Forest

Chapter 6 - The Ghosts of Gothsin Forest

Adria dashed after the young, ungrateful vandals into the depths of Gothsin Forest. Moonlight made it through the cover of leaves, lighting up the way through. She reached an ancient, graying pine tree with bark that had wrinkled into patterns of eyes. Arrows stuck out of it. Before passing, she glanced over her shoulder: the inn and all of its glory were still visible. Once the pine was behind her, the tavern vanished from sight.

She’d left the inn’s grounds, and passed the barrier. This, by all means, should’ve been impossible, yet it proved the theory right: these vandals had cracked the barrier open.

If I want to return before the barrier reopens at sunrise, I’ll have to do it through this passage, Adria thought.

The rascals were nimble and fit through impossible gaps. But Adria had sneaked and ran her way through her fair share of forests during her escape from the North. She navigated through the woods by instinct alone, picking a path faster than the vandals.

Adria dragged her paint-soaked fingers across a tree, leaving a faint mark. Already, the paint dried up. At least she had the brushes to extend the trail. A berry tree—with red and blue fruits in place of leaves—came close. As she tagged the tree, its sharp branches sliced her across the forearm.

Adria cursed and carried on.

Ahead, the figures stopped moving. Shades of white and gray shifted in the haze of darkness, but the light from the moon didn’t provide enough for Adria to see anything clearly. She slowed down and tried to leave a final mark. All the paint was used up and she could only leave behind a pitiful smudge.

A clearing opened ahead, where the young vandals had stopped. Adria inched closer, eyes narrowing, trying to get a good look.

Seven tall and slim figures surrounded the kids. A gray haze flowed out of them. If you looked hard enough, you could see through their cut-up rags and hoods that covered their faces. Like they were almost real. And at the waists of those creatures teetering between planes of existence hung rusting blades, helmets and flags.

Adria gulped, remembering La’Var’s stories. He hunted in this forest. He told her what she could expect here. Who entrapped these kids weren’t people. Beasts, they were. The worst kind, too — spirits.

Prayer? Nope. The right kind of blade? Nope. Sorcery.... No, Adria checked off a list in her head. I have nothing that could defeat spirits.

The spirits whispered among themselves while the kids stood frozen in the middle, terrified to the depths of their hearts. Adria hadn’t ever heard the tongue the spirits spoke, yet it had elements of ancient languages. Whatever they whispered about couldn’t have been good — the spirits stepped closer. The kids jumped. In a frenzy, some raised their fists for weapons, and others took out cheap daggers that couldn’t stab a rat.

Adria unsheathed the bone knife La'Var had gifted her.

Maybe… Maybe this is the right kind of blade?

The spirits, again, stepped closer to the kids and whispered louder. Adria gripped the bone blade and jumped into the opening, roaring, swiping her weapon at the ghosts. Shocked, the kids stabbed at her. She dodged out of the way of their phony knives and shoved the frazzled children away. Their eyes jumped up and down, at the spirits then at Adria, welling with fear and uncertainty. For a moment, they couldn't decide. Then they fell in line behind her, like children hiding behind their mother, siding with the scarlett-haired woman instead of the spirits of the woods.

Adria swiped the blade at the ghosts to drive them even farther away and turned to the young, ungrateful vandals.

“I’ve got a blade which can cut these things in half,” she said through her teeth. “But I’ll use it under one condition: tell me who you are, how you got in here and why.”

The kids' eyes widened and they scampered backward, and they pointed fingers.

I am... that scary of a redhead? Adria's brows furrowed. Then, a cold chill tickled her shoulder. Her heart dropped, then trying to catch it, she dropped to the ground as well. Above her, a rusty sword—engulfed in a haze—slashed at the air.

Adria wasn't terrifying in the least, but a fool of the court, who forgot to not turn her back against a band of spirits dead set on her death.

She rolled to the side and hopped to her feet, pointing the bone dagger at the spirit, staring intently at it, trying to predict its next move. The spirit, which towered over Adria, inched closer. Its arm began to waver. It hopped backward and stabbed the blade into the ground. Dirt splattered. The ghost wrapped a flag from its waist around the sword's handle, kneeled and prayed in strange whispers.

The other spirits turned to it and rambled in tongues. Adria's mouth came ajar.

“Well?” she muttered to the equally confused vandals.

“We’re The Junior Rogue League of Gothsin,” a kid began.

“We’re here on a mission to leave a message,” another added.

“What message?” Adria asked.

“That Gothsin is no place for a filthy, goblin-run institution of crime and debauchery!”

“And who gave you that mission?”

“Our leader…” a third kid uttered, but couldn’t muster up the strength for a name.

“The King of Dark Alleys,” another vandal finished.

The King of Dark Alleys? Adria frowned, trying to remember where she had heard that and what it meant. When I was traveling through Gothsin, to the inn, the folk were talking about it everywhere. But all else that I remember is that he really hates goblins.

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“Thank you for your honesty,” Adria said. “In exchange, I will keep my side of the deal. Run for your lives while I deal with these spirits… More like weaklings, really.”

The kids turned to the darkness of the woods and shuddered. Adria released a momentary grunt. They jumped and scattered into the depths of the forest.

Gulping, Adria stepped towards the ghosts of Gothsin forest, raising her blade up high. They focused on the kneeling one, whispering, howling, screeching among themselves. She didn't dare to attack and couldn't decide if running would be the better option.

I wish I could understand what in the world these things are talking about, she thought. It would be an awesome ball trick too! 'Watch this! I can speak the language of long dead hallows...'

Adria's thoughts tapered off: her head began throbbing while the insides of her bones and the blood in her veins flashed with heat. She shut her eyes and gritted her teeth, waiting for it to pass. When her eyes opened, her dagger was hovering. A moment later, it fell back into her grip. The waves of agony vanished. And the language of spirits became understandable.

“It is pathetic.” One of the ghosts put a hand on the kneeling one. “Such lives, such glorious deaths, yet we're banished to haunting kids and maidens to prolong this purgatory... But think about—”

“No, enough! I'm going out on my own terms. I'd rather have my hand slay me than her because... Well, once you get close to her, you'll feel it. She isn't a simpleton maid,” the kneeling spirit said.

“If you do this, you'll upset them.”

The kneeling one cackled.

“Just carrying on into this purgatory was a foolish mistake. It goes against the laws of the world. And doing this... Falling back to oblivion... It's the only right choice we can make. To return, at least some part of, the true order of the world.”

The spirit drove the rusty sword fully into the ground and out of it emerged tendrils of mist, expanding, slithering around the ghost. In moments, a cloud of mist engulfed the being. And Adria snapped out of staring at this strange sight: she lunged forth and slashed at the distracted spirits.

The hallows screeched. The hallows shook and gyrated, and their limbs twisted in strange directions. They stomped, making the ground quake. They grabbed trees and almost tore them down.

Thank you, La’Var. It works. Shivers ran across Adria’s back while a grin formed on her face. I haven’t destroyed them yet, but I have a way to hurt them.

The spirits turned to face Adria once more. Their whispers and screeches ceased, replaced by a barrage of indescribable sounds that made Adria’s skin crawl. Not even the town’s madman would believe this combination of beeps, clicks and screams came from this world. From under the translucent rags and cloaks of the spirits, claws emerged. They strode towards Adria, clawing for her heart, trying to encircle her once more.

If you end up in the company of ghosts, you do not want to also end up in a place where you can’t escape, Adria recalled La’Var’s advice from her third day at Saint Goblin’s Inn. Pretty sure everyone can get to that conclusion on their own... Either way — good advice!

She ran.

Following the trail of red paint and dropped brushes, she weaved around trees, jumped over bushes and stumps, and slithered through tiny openings.

Close behind, the three-meter-tall spirits followed. Their strange sounds grew louder and transformed. Every second, they seemed more like the anarchy of battle. The sorrow of soldiers dying by the sides of their brothers, the fear of the enemy’s rush, the adrenaline of the kill, all in a series of deep growls, incoherent mumbles and high squeals. Hot sweat streaming down her skin, feet aching from the tough track, Adria still found a moment to be grateful that she did not understand the sounds of the hallows or else she would surely go mad.

Gothsin Forest began clearing. Saint Goblin’s Inn neared. Swiftly, the spirits gained.

Memories from Adria’s escape from the north came flooding back. The primal fear, to be exact, of famished hounds chasing her a dozen paces behind. The inability to look over her shoulder, to see how close death is, else she would trip.

And despite using every drop of energy, Adria could not outrun the things that were dead and alive.

The forest began clearing. The night lights of Gothsin came into view in the distance. Saint Goblin’s Inn was close, perhaps less than a hundred meters. The spirits caught up. The one closest to Adria clawed at her back. Adria yelped. Her skin remained intact and uninjured. But burning and stinging pierced through the entirety of her body. Without looking, she tried stabbing behind herself. The bone blade cut up the arms and chests of a few spirits. They growled and quivered, slowing down for a moment, giving Adria a split second to gain on them, before returning to the chase with a supernatural viciousness.

The barrier should be somewhere here, Adria thought and breathily said, “Oh Saint, bring upon me thy mead and thy roast, for I am a traveler lost!”

Ahead, Saint Goblin’s Inn flicked into existence. She had made it to the tavern, but what did it mean? Barriers and walls meant nothing to the spirits. They still chased. Their inhuman sounds reached a deafening point.

Ba’Gan had vanished. He’d gone to bed, Adria guessed, and didn’t care if she lived or died in those woods. Her lungs and her legs started to give in. The frustration gave her one last burst of energy and she slashed the spirits behind her and beside her, praying that she could buy herself a second or two, just enough distance to get into the inn and get help.

Once Adria dashed past the graveyard surrounding Saint Goblin’s Inn, the headstones and the graves began to cackle and throb like hearts. This was the spirits, playing games with their prey.

Adria tripped over a cross and fell to the ground.

The spirits caught up. Adria shut her eyes the second before six claws pierced her chest. The maddening sounds of the hallows roared deep within her skull. For what seemed like an eternity, her head bordered on the verge of explosion. In that agonizing moment, she was sure she’d either die or go mad. After suffering through a minute of torment, she dared to open her eyes.

The spirits had vanished, yet the world had twisted and corrupted.

The midnight sky turned to a deep red. The moon turned black. The tombstones and graves grew enormous. Skulls covered the walls of Saint Goblin’s Inn. Ashes covered the grass underfoot. And in every corner of Adria’s vision, shadows danced.

Fighting through the pain in her legs and in her head, forcing through an uncontrollable fear that seeped into the core of her soul and her bones, Adria clambered to her feet and limped over to the steel doors of Saint Goblin’s Inn.

Adria swayed through the dining hall at a crawling speed until everything reached an unbearable point.

She stopped and leaned on a table. There, a dirty pint stood. Cleaning up the place, she hadn’t noticed it. Now that didn’t bother her — her skull was about to burst open. The pain in her head and the maddening sounds of the spirits passed the point of no return.

Adria sneezed and pain engulfed her for a flash. Colors flickered and the shapes of everything shifted meaninglessly. And everything returned to normal.

Fully lucid, Adria leaned on the table and frowned. What had just happened? Did it really happen? Did her exhausted mind just imagine the terrors she was going through minutes ago?

Adria snatched the dirty pint and stood up, headed for the kitchen. Then, her legs gave out. She collapsed. As the pint rolled away, her vision faded into darkness.