Arvel sat quietly at the kitchen table, staring at the crackling hearth, and listening to the gentle pitter-patter of raindrops falling on the roof. The front door was open, and Fidget quietly swept the splinters and debris out the door, trying to choke back her sniffles and quiet sobs. In the other room, Rain made no efforts to hold back her wails, sitting on the empty bedding where Lunette had been lounging when they left in the morning.
With a groan, Arvel gripped the edge of the table with his good hand and pushed himself to stand, shuffling toward the bedroom door. He leaned on the frame with his left shoulder, and said quietly, “She ain’t dead.”
Rain wiped at her eyes with her hands before gripping the blankets under her, and said, “You can’t promise that.”
“The only blood ‘round here is demon,” Arvel said, “And if Melodia was gonna kill her she’d’ve strung her up on the gate to make sure I suffered worse.”
Rain’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the blanket tighter. She lifted her head, tears streaming down her face, and shouted at Arvel, “Maybe it’s not about you! Put your ego away for a moment and consider that maybe this wasn’t about hurting you!”
Arvel’s eyes narrowed, and he said, “You ain’t got room to lecture me about an ego. You don’t know Melodia like I do. She already used all three of you to threaten me once.”
Rain bit her lip as she looked down at the bedding. She lifted a hand to touch the side of her neck, remembering the feeling of Melodia’s hands around her throat. Even as Melodia was choking the life out of her, she was talking about Arvel, almost obsessively.
“She ain’t dead,” Arvel repeated, “But she’s bein’ dangled out there on the end of a thread like a piece of bait.”
“Then what do we do?” Rain asked, looking up at him.
“We don’t do nothin’,” he said, “You got funerals to oversee tomorrow and people to visit with. I’m the only one that’s gotta take the bait.”
“You can’t go by yourself!” she shouted.
“I have to go by myself,” he replied, “Six years ago, I didn’t have the strength in my heart to kill Melodia. A few weeks ago, I didn’t have the strength in my body to do it. But this time I ain’t gonna let nothin’ stop me.”
“You’re still injured!” Rain shouted, “You’re not in any state to go after her like you are now.”
“So is everyone else!” Arvel snapped, “We’re all banged up and beat up. There ain’t no callin’ the cavalry in for support. Lunette can’t wait a few weeks for me to get to feelin’ better. I’m headed up the mountain first thing in the mornin’.”
Rain stared at him a moment, before she burst into sobs, and buried her face in her hands. Arvel was quiet, offering her no words of comfort. He lingered there, listening to her, before he turned and shut the door behind him, leaning against it and sliding to the floor.
That night, Arvel wouldn’t go to bed. He slept in the living room. But, Fidget refused to leave his side. When he woke in the morning, he gently extricated his arm from under Fidget, and wrapped her in his share of the blankets to keep her warm and appeased. He quietly changed into a pair of overalls, not bothering to put a shirt on underneath; he left the strap over his right shoulder unfastened, to not press against his bandaged wounds. He put his boots on by the front door, before looking up at the rack on the wall.
A pitchfork, a tipped shovel, and a dusty old sword. Hidden beneath its heavy coating of dust was an ornate handle and crossguard, and its leather sheath was showing signs of dry rotting, with cracks and flecks already sloughing off, having been swept out the door by Fidget’s regular cleaning. The sword hadn’t budged from its spot since Arvel’s father died. Arvel reached up, his fingers twitching, before he wrapped them around the shaft of the shovel. He nudged the front door open with a quiet creak before slipping outside, under the first rays of sunlight.
Rain sat on the floor bedding, pinning her hair up into a bun at the nape of her neck when the bedroom door flew open, slamming against the corner of a nearby dresser with a loud crack. She looked up at Fidget, who was half-into her wrinkled dress, with a panicked expression on her face.
“Where’s Arvel?!” Fidget shouted.
Rain sighed softly and said, “He left. He’s gone to find Lunette.”
“We have to go help!” said Fidget.
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“I need to be with my people today,” Rain replied, “There are funerals to plan, and—”
Rain was tossed to the side by the impact, landing on her elbow on the bedding. She grasped her stinging cheek, and looked up at Fidget in shock. Fidget’s hand was still lifted from the swift slap she’d delivered.
“How dare you...!” shouted Rain.
“How dare YOU!” Fidget yelled, pointing a sharp finger at her accusingly, “...’my people’ this and ‘my people’ that! Easy for you to come sleep in warm bed with Arvel while they sleep in mud! But when Arvel is in trouble, now your people are more important? Dead people are dead!”
“Funerals are for the living,” Rain replied, “My people are suffering right now, and I am obligated to support them. I’m not a fighter like you, Fidget. I’d only get in Arvel’s way.”
Fidget lifted her hand again, and Rain flinched away, but no strike came. Fidget sniffled, her eyes welling with tears which she struggled to hold back. She swallowed the lump in her throat, and said, “Arvel is alive. Fidget wants him to stay that way. You go to your funeral and your people... and Fidget makes sure Arvel comes home.”
Fidget turned and opened the dresser drawer from behind the door, and yanked out the gingham curtain she used for a cloak, pulling it around her shoulders. She grabbed her bag and her boots from the corner, before running out the door, and straight out of the house, leaving Rain alone in the silence.
The settlement at Elediah’s Trail was quiet and forlorn. Every set of hands had a task to perform, and every person who wasn’t bedridden was up at dawn to do their work, in spite of the pain and heartbreak they all felt.
For his part, Frederik had traded his quill for a hoe, and was awkwardly learning to use the tool left-handed, while his right arm was immobilized in a sling. He found himself glancing eastward, almost obsessively, especially after noticing the clouds briefly darken earlier before lightening again.
‘I’m sure that one must’ve been the goblin,’ he thought to himself as he worked.
On another eastward glance, he noticed someone racing down the gravel path. It was a small mounted rider, with her red-and-white checkered cloak fluttering behind her.
“Oh no,” Frederik muttered, dropping his hoe and running toward the gravel road. He had expected a repeat from three weeks prior. But this time, he saw the goblin rider had tucked her head down and was holding tight to both sides of her goat mount. Tim bleated in frustration and panic as he raced toward the town, unable to shirk Fidget.
“HELP!” Fidget shouted.
Several of the townsfolk dropped what they were doing and ran to join Frederik, and the crowd surrounded Tim as he charged down the middle of their settlement. The goat reared back, but Fidget held on tight, squeezing her legs against his side to keep from being bucked.
“Why in the world do you keep doing this?” Frederik asked, “That goat isn’t meant for riding. You don’t even have a proper bridle!”
“You!” Fidget shouted, pointing at Frederik, “I need you.”
“Me?!” he yelped in surprise, before glancing around shyly, hoping no one else had paid attention to the squeak in his voice.
“Yes you!” she said, “Skinny writer man! You’re tough.”
Some of the other men chuckled.
“Me?” asked Frederik, raising an eyebrow, “Tough? Miss, I assure you that wherever you got that impression, it was thoroughly misplaced...”
“Skinny writer man protected us!” she shouted, “Tried hard, at least. Came by yourself even if it was dumb. Got tore up and still fought. Do you have to be here to bury people?”
“I... no?” he responded hesitantly, “I don’t suppose I need to... I’ve written proper obituaries for each and every one, and it’s not my place to preside over—”
“Come with!” Fidget said, tugging on the single strap of Tim’s halter to turn him around.
“Come with you?” Frederik asked, “Where?”
“For a legend!” Fidget replied, casting a big, jagged-toothed grin over her shoulder.
No one knew quite how to respond. The townsfolk looked at each other in confusion, not entirely able to follow the goblin’s line of reasoning. But Frederik took a deep breath, let out a heavy sigh, then gave Fidget a small smile and said, “I’ll go and get my bag.”
The mountainside was just as quiet as Arvel expected it to be, the day after a demon attack. The wolves and other creatures that roamed and hunted in the area kept to their dens, and picked their hunting targets carefully. After a large-scale demon attack, stragglers who hadn’t made it back to their nest were prone to opportunistic hunting, and two or three demons could easily tear down an entire bear if they found one out in the open.
As he traveled further up the path, digging his shovel into the ground on every step like a walking stick, he noticed signs of goblins. First were the trail markings, which served to identify whatever pack had laid claim to the territory, and to guide them to where they had made camp. But the symbology was nothing so universal as a directional arrow, and Arvel could make no sense of the marker. He also began to notice that these markers were relatively fresh.
‘I didn’t think goblins would move back into the area,’ he thought to himself, ‘I wonder if the settlers looked like easy prey to them from afar. Yesterday ought to learn em.’
Arvel paused as he was walking, and listened. He could hear the shifting gravel from beneath his feet still settling. He began to walk again, and a few steps later, he took another pause, tilting his head. He listened, hearing the wind and the settling gravel. This time, he planted his shovel and lifted his foot to take another step, but froze just before it hit the ground. All around him, he heard the quiet sound of a footstep gently echoed between the jagged rocks. Arvel sighed, and pulled his shovel out of the ground, tucking the shaft against his side with his elbow, and said, “Y’all are real good pursuers.”
He expected that two or three lightly-equipped goblins might’ve been able to sync their footsteps with his for a while. He wasn’t expecting nine goblins with spears and swords to emerge from behind the rocks.